


he's a forest fire

by serendipia



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Famous Harry, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Lots of Crying, M/M, Social Media, University Student Louis, boys being stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-29 20:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12639048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipia/pseuds/serendipia
Summary: AU in which university student Louis Tomlinson and pop star Harry Styles pretend to date. Louis, in order to make his ex jealous; Harry, to clean his public image.Certain complications ensue.





	he's a forest fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alreadyhome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alreadyhome/gifts).



> I'm currently editing this because the formatting is all ruined and I just realized months after posting.
> 
> \---
> 
> First of all, I want to thank Katherine,  
> ([her tumblr](http://maybe-jamesbond.tumblr.com) / [her ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbw01)).  
> Despite the short notice, she proof-read all of this, within days. I know I said it a lot and I'm probably very, very annoying at this point but thank you. I appreciate your efforts so, so much and that you took time out of your day to help me despite the fact that we do not know each other.  
> Your comments also made me feel better about this story. Sooo, thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> And, hii, alreadyhome! You sent me three prompts, two of which I liked a lot, so I tried to mix up both and this was the result. Hope you like it, and if you don't, I give you permission to throw me as many tomatoes as you wish!

> “Why should I be sad?
> 
> I have lost people who did not love me,
> 
> but they lost someone who loved them.”
> 
> **_-Mario Benedetti_ **

 

He steps out of the gates of Sheffield Airport, head low, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the incessant flashes of cameras-both from fans and paps. Doncaster is not a usual place to be bombarded by showbiz journalists and paparazzis, but someone has apparently leaked his flight information and  _ the news _ has just broken out; therefore, everyone wants to have his first declarations -hence the crowd.

 

Someone from  _ The Sun _ ’s gossip column  _ Bizarre _ (Michael? Mike? Marcus?) shoves a phone in his face. He can recognize the man due to seeing him countless times throughout the entirety of his career; prying and always trying to get his nose into the most private aspects of his life. The journalist stops right in front of him, so he finds himself forced to stop in his tracks, unable to move in any direction. He feels trapped, and looks around for his bodyguard, who seems to have been lost among the sea of moving people.

 

“Harry, is it true that Nicholas Grimshaw has cheated on you with his co-host?” The guy-( _ Mathew _ , maybe?)-asks. It makes him wince a little. Certainly, he did not expect sympathy from the public, but the question is still too straightforward even for one of the most intrusive reporters he has met since he became a professional singer, and that wound is still a bit too open. Hearing the words leave someone else’s mouth makes it way too real, and knowing the whole world is watching his every step, looking at him with either pity, curiosity, or hunger for the tear-jerking details; well, it dabs at his dignity. 

 

Preston, his bodyguard, pushes the man out of the way with his elbow, not paying attention to the complaints that immediately leave his mouth, and then pulls Harry by his upper arm towards the van waiting for them. Even when he is inside, the camera flashes do not stop. Some people even go as far as shoving themselves onto the car and pressing their lenses onto the windows. They remind him of vultures flying in circles above the carcass of a dead animal. The mass of hysterical people prevents them from driving away for a few minutes, and it makes him a bit anxious, a sense of claustrophobia setting in at the bottom of his stomach. Moments later, several airport security guards come and disperse the crowd, leaving behind a small throng of people, so they finally drive away until they are out of everyone’s sight.

 

He leans back on his seat, letting out a deep sigh and closing his eyes. He can sense the start of a migraine coming when his sight becomes blurry.

Soon, though not soon enough, he finds himself opening the door to his old, childhood house, where memories of once unreachable dreams, long lost friends, and hopeless nights invade him all at once. He has always been a family-oriented person, which explains his desire to keep this property even though the money in his bank account could probably let him afford more luxurious houses scattered around prestigious, gated villages around the world than he is able to count. Even though he has, indeed, bought a few unnecessarily expensive houses both in Europe and America.

But every time something comes crashing down on him, when things get too hard, when deals fail, when friends leave, when the glitz and the glam of Hollywood and stardom get to his head, this is where he finds himself. Where he is able to get his feet back on the ground and remember his roots.

The house is eerily silent, but he turns on the lights and plays some music on his phone in an attempt to feel less lonely, less empty. His mother is not currently here, he has not told her he is yet,  but he knows once she sees the reports about his arrival on the news, she will come right away. It would be nice; he has not seen her in awhile.

He plops down on the couch that is placed in the middle of the living room, a small amount of dust flying around the room when his body hits the cushions too hard. He looks around. There are a lot of frames hanging on the walls, many of which are from his childhood and teenage years. There is one where he is standing next to his sister on the day she moved out to do an internship in Paris when he was thirteen, with his mother on his first day of high school, with a boy he met on his first day as a sophomore and who spent the next few years tied to his hip until Harry auditioned for The X Factor and his life became too hectic to keep old friends in it. There is another frame where he is showing his audition number; a big, hopeful smile on his face, and he has to go and put it down. A few tears slide down his cheeks as he wonders how he has let himself be caught up in the glamour that this lifestyle brings. “ _ It is dangerous _ ,” his mother always tells him, “ _ you can get hurt and you can get other people hurt _ .”

He sighs. At least his management team has granted him several weeks off before he has to resume his album promo. It had not been easy to convince them, but in the end, Jeff -his boss- conceded.

Morning comes with traces of dried tears on his cheeks, a clogged nose, and a dull ache in his neck because he has fallen asleep in a sitting position on the couch. The battery of his phone has died at some point during the night, which may be for the better, as he does not want to see his tired face plastered all over any social media. Not yet, at least. He cannot deal with false assumptions by lying journalists or fans’ far-fetched theories at the moment.

He takes his time taking a long, almost soul-cleansing shower and getting dressed. Letting the water relax his tense muscles and erase all the evidence of the night he has spent crying his heart out, feeling lost. He puts on a pair of sweatpants and a loose hoodie, his hair in a bun.

He ventures into the streets, and he does a pretty good job of disguising himself-which comes as a pleasant surprise-as he enters the old, slightly deteriorated diner that he used to visit every day after class. He remembers coming in this same door, hearing the same bell above his head, and walking to the same booth every day. He reminisces how he and his peers would fill these same walls with laughter and jokes until late in the afternoon, when their phones would ring with calls from their worried parents.

There are not many people at the moment; the only noise that can be heard is the oddly melodious clinking of cutlery and the low singing of a waitress who has earphones on and a serene expression. He does not approach her; though, just walks toward the front desk, where a dark-haired boy is sitting engrossed in a David Levithan book. The last time Harry has seen this man was at least eight months ago when they ran into each other at a coffee shop nearby right before Harry had to leave to Los Angeles for an interview for a major morning talk show.

Back then, it has been a pleasant encounter and Harry learned that the boy is working at this diner in order to go back to college as soon as possible. Harry had told him about the awards show he was going to attend a month later. He is glad to see him here, which is the only reason he has specifically chosen this place to have breakfast; more eager for company than for food. Practically ditching old friends and coming back to them when his life is a mess is probably not the best thing he has done, but.

“Oh, hey.” He taps the boy’s shoulder, hoping to get his attention. It works, and his friend (former friend?) looks up from his book and his expression goes from neutral to one full of surprise. “Hi, mate.” He says, not knowing how the other will react to his sudden presence.

“Hello, mate!” He greets him with a kind, enthusiastic smile, “what are you doing around here?” He blurts out, but then his eyes widen comically and he recovers his seemingly professional instance. “I mean, would you like to order something?” Harry chuckles, but takes the opportunity to order and maybe during the time his “friend” is gone, Harry will be able to sort out why on Earth he is here, and what he is supposed to do or say now.

“Uh, a turkey sandwich would be nice, thank you, Zayn.” He answers, and the boy disappears for a bit into what Harry remembers is the kitchen.  _ What are you doing here? _ He isn’t sure of the answer.

Once the boy is back with his order, he tries to make small talk in order to avoid answering the question that the other has asked moments prior.

“How’s life?” He asks at some point, and the guy is not very talkative, but this time he is excited to tell the details of a scholarship he has gotten at an important university to major in Arts. This time, when Zayn asks him about his own life, Harry is not as excited as he was during their last meeting. They fall into easy conversation, though; about assorted topics, like the last Bar **ç** a game even though Harry is not a fan of professional football, Zayn tells him about the new club that has opened in town, and how the man they used to prank when they were teenagers has sadly passed away. It makes him feel somewhat at ease, to talk about things that are different from the usual, superficial conversations that surround him every day.

           Soon, though, it is rush hour so the place starts to fill and Zayn has to go back to work. Harry hangs around, picking at his meal and watching frantic working class people come in and go; some counting their money and Zayn acting like he has not realized the money is not enough once they hand it to him. He tells them not to worry about his tip. Harry feels like a circular piece trying to squeeze itself into a jigsaw puzzle; he just cannot fit.

           After the throng of people has decreased a bit, Zayn comes back to his side and they resume their conversation. Admittedly, there is one person Harry wants to ask Zayn about-a boy, with chestnut hair and eyes like the sea; blue with a few green splashes here and there. He has always kept him in mind, they were the best of friends at some point, after all. But he left so abruptly, and stopped making calls and answering texts so slowly their once conjoined path split into two parallel lines.

           The name of the boy remains at the tip of his tongue, but he does not speak it out loud.

 

-

 

          Zayn gives his farewell to the singer who has suddenly reappeared in the non-glamorous, working-class Doncaster like a boomerang. He has been a bit weirded out by his presence, by the sudden interest in their average and frankly boring lives, but it has been nice to be able to catch up with someone with whom he shares so many teenage memories. Even though they grew apart, partly because of Harry’s decision, and he was resentful at first, he cannot blame him for deciding to chase his dream and doing everything to achieve it.

           When he is walking down the hallway to his flat, distractedly checking his phone, he is surprised to see a known face -frowning, frowning so hard their whole face is flushed red and a vein is popping up on their forehead- stomping down the alley, their hands fisted. They walk past Zayn, harshly bumping his shoulder but not acknowledging him at all. Zayn frowns a bit, but then his eyes widen as alarms go off in his head. He immediately hurries towards the door, fumbling nervously with his key but later realizing it has actually been left unlocked.

          He opens the door of the small, studio flat in one swift motion, he goes in and looks around the room, looking for his best friend. At first, he does not see it, and his heart beats so fast that he can hear his own blood pumping, then he spots a small figure curled up in a corner. Hiis heart falls flat to his stomach.

           “God, Louis, what the fuck?” He gasps, and the tiny figure cannot even look up from the cocoon he has made for his face out of his crossed arms resting on his bent knees. He vaguely hears the soft, slightly feminine voice that belongs to Zayn curse as he apparently steps on the shards of shattered glass that used to be a frame. Or maybe he has seen the mess of scattered clothes, broken presents, and torn paper sheets littered all over their floor. It looks like a tornado has taken over their tiny home; and he hopes the tears falling from his eyes will initiate the flood that will end it all and wash it away. Maybe he will drown within the rage of its waves and indigo tranquility. He is in the eye of the hurricane, pathetically sat on the floor among the mess of useless promises, screams and tarnished memories.

          There is nothing left of it now, though; only the image of Sam, his boyfriend, ex-boyfriend now, telling him it is over with a small hint of guilt shining in his eyes, and the white noise of insults and accusations that followed: the bang of the door and the hinges loosening up, neighbors gossiping in the hallway.  

The slim figure of his flatmate sits by his side, and grabs at his forearm, pulling him gently onto his own body. There is a pair of calloused yet soft fingers on his chin, lifting his face gently so his bloodshot eyes could look into the other’s honey-like ones.

“What happened?” His friend mutters, scared to raise his voice above a whisper and cause a landslide inside his friend’s very own chrysalis, to ruin the fragility of his surroundings and bring every wall crashing down onto the floor. “Louis, you’re scaring me, mate. Are you okay?” He only receives a shake of the head from the miserable boy, who hiccups as he tries to get some words out. But his mind is scrambled, and he does not know how to make sense of all the erratic emotions and puzzling words swimming around in his poor, poor brain. He sobs, pathetic and whiny, the sound making his best friend’s heart shatter.

“It’s over.” He croaks out in a high pitch, the words _you need to grow up_ and _we’re done_ bouncing from wall to wall, mocking him almost.

“What is?” It takes Zayn a second to understand the implications behind his words, and then his mouth forms a silent “ _Oh.”_ He takes a second to really look at every single thing surrounding them at the moment. The frame with the picture that Louis and Sam took at the farmers’ fair two months into their relationship is the one shattered on the floor; judging by the handwriting, the shreds of paper scattered everywhere are the silly letters and occasional poems Louis would write for him.

Zayn sighs, leaning his back against the wall and running his own hand through his friend’s sweaty hair, trying to get him to calm down a bit. He has always thought his friend loves too hard and gives too much of himself. In the end, he has given so much that when the person leaves, they take so much from him that all that’s left is an incomplete mess desperately trying to hold itself up, gluing parts that do not belong to him and patching up holes with what little cloth he manages to find. And Sam… well, Zayn has never been too fond of him, so he cannot be arsed to feel guilty about the slight relief that comes to him when he understands that they have broken up.

          But. That is an issue for another time.

          A couple more minutes pass among the eerie tranquility of the unmoving flat, only interrupted by slowly-decreasing cries from time to time. By the time it is 9:30 P.M., Louis has calmed enough for Zayn to be able to pull him up from the floor, and they walk to the couch and sit there, Zayn waiting for the other to explain what exactly happened to their modest home.

           Zayn stands up and goes to the kitchen -well, their kitchen is actually a stove and a mini fridge kept in a corner- to grab a glass. He fills it with water and makes sure to add two ice cubes and half a spoon of sugar. When he comes back to his seat, he makes the boy drink the liquid in slow gulps, watching him with worry-filled eyes.

           “So, do you mind telling me why our house looks like the aftermath of World War III?” Zayn smiles lopsidedly, trying to somehow lighten the heavy, dense atmosphere. Louis actually looks around for the first time, and lowers his head, slightly embarrassed about the disaster his and Sam’s encounter has caused.

           “I’m sorry…” He says, sheepishly. “We kind of had a fight.”

           “I can see that.”

           “He told me I was too much to handle,” Zayn scoffs at that. “That he was tired of my tantrums.”

           “What an asshole.”

           “Maybe he’s right, though.” He comments, hiccups still present even though his tears have dried out by now. “I’m too high-maintenance, I guess.”

-

           Harry arrives at the diner at 7:23 A.M. Today, he feels more at peace knowing his mother will arrive from Holmes Chapel, where she currently lives. He still has to wait a few hours, though, so he figures he could spend some time talking to his friend. He is not sure if he can even call him that, or if they can only be considered simply acquaintances who once were inseparable.

           During the past few years, the loyalty of a genuine friendship has been a foreign concept to him. Everyone that has come into his life has done so with a secret purpose; always wanting something, some benefit from him. So, he selfishly hopes Zayn has not crossed his name out from his list of mates.

           He walks into the diner and straight to the front desk again, taking the high stool that he has claimed as his during the past three mornings he has spent hours chatting about trivial things and watching people go on about their hectic, average lives. The raven-haired boy is nowhere to be seen, probably inside the kitchen, so as he waits for him to come take his order and hopefully engage in some meaningless conversation, he checks his phone. The social media frenzy has calmed down for the most part. New gossip about other celebrities has surfaced and people have mostly forgotten about his failed relationship, so he opens his Twitter application and decides to tweet some concerned fans. They have been dead worried about him after all, and deserve some reassurance that he is in fact not drowning in depression due to a heartbreak. That is the thing; he is not even heartbroken.

           He gets a tad carried away, typing a few automatic  _ thanks  _ without even reading their tweets completely and posting some silly jokes. But a few minutes later, he gets interrupted by a raspy voice.

           “Uhm, good morning, mate, how can I help you?” The voice that takes him out from his fanservice task is not the same as the one he has grown accustomed to hearing the past few days. It has a familiar pitch to it, but in his mind he cannot pinpoint to whom exactly it belongs. So he looks up, and squints his eyes at the person in front of him. He is met with a pair of sea blue eyes, the ones with the tiny drops of green and splashes of white from the light reflecting on them.

           He has not seen them in so long, and he half-wonders how he has not forgotten them. He has somehow forgotten this person’s birthday, some of his sisters’ names, and even to respond to his text messages and emails, but he still remembers this pair of eyes with vivid details.

           He mouth-fishes for something to say. Something along the lines of  _ ‘sorry for being a dick and cutting you off _ ’. He decides against it when he remembers how that speech did not work with his other friend, Abigail, who only opened his message and proceeded to leave him on read. He watches the boy’s expression change from boredom to slight bewilderment as recognition dawns on him.

           “Louis.” He gasps, surprised, slightly shocked and maybe more in a pleasant manner. “Hi?” Harry says lamely, brows furrowed only a bit.

           “Wh-what are you doing here?” Harry does not know if he means  _ ‘here’  _ as in this diner, or  _ here  _ as in Doncaster and its humble houses and narrow alleys that he once could not wait to leave behind, or  _ here  _ in front of him. He chooses to answer the first.

           “I was looking for Zayn?” His intonation raises in the middle of his speech, and his confidence falls as his statement comes out as more of a question.

           “Zayn isn’t here, I took the morning shift today.” The boy does not have anything remotely close to a smile on his face, so Harry takes it they are not exactly in good terms. He can’t blame him. Out of everyone he wronged, maybe this person is the one he did worse.

           “When does he come in?”

           “At two.” He answers flatly. “So, what will you eat?”

           “Um, a tuna sandwich, thanks.” The boy only nods and leaves for the kitchen. In some odd way, being treated with coldness from the people who took part in his life feels better than the fake kindness he receives on the daily.

           After only a few minutes, Louis reappears with his order, and places it rather harshly in front of Harry. He thanks him, nonetheless.

           The blue-eyed boy busies himself on the register, counting money or summat, clearly avoiding the unwanted presence eating less than a meter away. Harry takes the opportunity to watch him and remember the features of the boy he once promised the whole world to. Of the boy he left behind in order to explore that same world. He is still as curvy, maybe a bit sharper in some places, his hair is still a light shade of brown and soft-looking, messy in a nice way, but longer and spiky. He watches him chat animatedly to an old woman who is patiently counting coins to pay for the mango slushie she has ordered. He smiles at her, a gesture that has not been granted to Harry, but he appreciates the chance to witness it.

          It has been years, but it is still the prettiest sight. Crinkles still form by his eyes, and his pupils disappear behind crescent moons. The woman hands him the money, a couple coins falling to the floor, and he cheekily sends her a kiss as she walks away.

          A serious expression falls upon his face again, and when he turns around, Harry is caught red-handed. The boy scowls at him, and the embarrassment settling in makes him stand up from the stool and leave.

-

          Louis watches the tall, now muscular figure of the superstar who used to be his classmate, bestend, crush and for the shortest period of time, boyfriend leave. Well, not exactly  _ boyfriend _ , but he used to like him, and Harry had told him it was mutual, and they shared kisses and ideas of futures spent together. Granted, Harry had also told him that nothing could come between them, and that turned out to be a fat lie. Maybe it was the innocence of the ages of sixteen and seventeen; but his career, and his fame, and his newly-found friends with posh accents did, indeed, come between them. Opening a gap in the middle of the two boys until the fine thread that tied them together could not be stretched more and it broke apart.

           He briefly thinks this must be a cruel prank that the universe is pulling on him, every bigger entity laughing their asses off at him. Right when he is experiencing one of the most painful and pitiful periods of his life, feeling unlovable and in a limbo, like he is just not good enough to be cherished by anyone, disposable and not meant to have anyone stick around; to have a face he can call home that can offer him a feeling of security and solidity. Right when Sam has dropped him like a child throwing away their favorite toy once it has been redeemed defective, life has decided to remind him of the first person who made those feelings bloom inside.

           Mockingly, almost. Making its point come across perfectly, _ you’re impossible to love _ .

His hands shake and the back of his eyes burn a little with salty liquid while he takes a girl’s order. He tries his best to keep his emotions at bay, and for most of his shift he is successful, only once giving some extra change by accident to a woman who is kind enough to give it back. By the time it’s close to 2 O’Clock, it is becoming harder to handle and he manages to mess up a boy’s order when, instead of bringing him a banana milkshake as he has requested, he brings him a chocolate one. The guy throws a fit, and Louis pathetically chokes out an apology and goes back to the kitchen hurriedly.

          He hastily prepares the new beverage, and everything seems to be okay until he accidentally knocks over the glass with his elbow, the milkshake spilling onto the floor. He stares at the mess for a few beats before a sob escapes his lips and he sinks to the floor across from the poodle, defeated. It is ten past two and there is still not a sign of Zayn, so he hurriedly sends him a text, ‘ _ where r you?! _ ’. He adds a few more exclamation marks than necessary, but his shift is over and his friend has decided to run late on the worst possible day. He just wants to go home, and be miserably alone and forget men even exist.

The double doors open and Zayn’s friendly, overly relaxed voice flies across the tiny space.

“Lou, there are three angry customers waiting outside and-” Upon hearing his best friend, Louis whimpers loudly, which makes the other guy stop in his tracks and look for Louis for a second until he finds him on the floor, not missing the spilled milkshake and the broken glass. A sense of déja vu setting in his stomach as he takes in the too familiar scene. “Lou, I’m sorry for taking so long, Niall made me stop by his flat to bring him the console he lent to us last month and he kept talking and-” he says it all in one go and Louis’ mind cannot even process one word of what he is saying.

“It’s okay.” He says brokenly, feeling pathetic; like he cannot properly live his life without a minder. And maybe he has been neglecting personal hygiene routines and unconsciously skipped several meals, but that does not mean he is a child who cannot do things for himself. Or so he tells himself as he steps out of the diner, blowing his nose on a napkin as he tries to ignore the glares from the clients he totally forgot about moments before.

Later that day, when Zayn comes home and he is still red-eyed and sulking on the couch, he does not tell him about his encounter with his childhood friend, does not want to ruin whatever friendship the pop star and he are developing. He knows that if he mentions it, Zayn will immediately cut ties with Harry. He can only hope that he never has to bump into the other boy again.

-

           He hears a car pull up in the front yard as he is chopping vegetables for the dinner he is making, an instant feeling of relief washing over him. He places the knife and the onion he was currently cutting up on the cupboard and walks towards the front door. When he opens it he sees Amelie, his mother, taking a suitcase from the driver’s hands and saying goodbye to the man with a hug. A few moments later, he is the one being embraced by his mother’s loving arms. He feels like he has been taken back to those days when he was a child playing tag with his friends in the street, those afternoons that he would spend running after them with sweat beads making his face glisten, damp hair matted to his forehead and flushed cheeks. So many times he would trip on his feet and fall, scraping his knee or elbows, and his mother would come out instantly as his cries reached her ears nearby. She would pull him into her chest, whispering words of comfort and succeeding in making his tears stop; promising that soon the pain will stop.

He feels disoriented and lost that the thing that has caused him so much glee and joy is what is causing him this immense helplessness now, but his mother’s protective hold makes the knot in his throat loosen up a bit.

They come inside, and he resumes his task in the kitchen. He finds comfort in the stories Amelie tells him, almost successfully pretending they are back to five years ago, before he was famous, before his stack of homework was replaced by a pile of magazines to sign, and before his group of friends was replaced by relations solely driven by PR and common interests.

-

          A week passes slowly between crying on Zayn’s shoulder and trying to adapt to a life without the person with whom he has shared almost every second of his day to day life, every fear, every hope, and every piece of his mind. The last grain of hope that Sam might come back with his tail between his legs and promises of  _ never again _ , is rapidly dissipating. Especially when he opens Facebook and Sam’s latest activity pops up at the top.

_ Sam Harrison is single _ .

           It stings a bit, and pulls at his heartstrings with extreme force, to see that he is moving on while Louis himself is still pining and feeling overall miserable.

           He sighs, and opens another bottle of Vodka, Sam Smith playing softly.  

           He passes out after his fifth glass of liquor with  _ Too Good at Goodbyes  _ playing in the background like a lullaby, traces of dried tears staining his rosy cheeks.

           A few hours later, he is rudely awoken by his best mate, who announces his presence by putting a bowl of soup on the small round table in front of the couch where Louis has fallen asleep. The bowl is made of porcelain, mind you, so it makes a loud sound when Zayn sets it on the table with more force than necessary. He attempts to close his eyes again, but a smack landing on the side of his head forbids him from doing so; he glares at his friend as much as his growing migraine allows him to.

           “Eat this.” Zayn orders him with a serious yet gentle tone of voice. A voice that tells Louis he is not going to let him continue his pity party. “And stop moping around, it has been long enough.”

           Louis sits up, head spinning when he does it too quickly for his hungover state. He unlocks his phone. 1:35 PM. Okay, maybe he has slept more than just a few hours. He inhales deeply; a week is not nearly enough to get over a one-year relationship. He feels tears pooling in his eyes again when he realizes that that exact amount of time has been more than enough for Sam.

           “Enough of this, Lou. C’mon, get showered and dressed.” Louis understands he probably looks like shit, and there is every chance he smells like shit, too, but he does not have the energy to move from the safety his blankets provide. He does not want to escape this small comfort zone he has created for himself and face a life without the man he has loved so much. To constantly being reminded of all the holes that he cannot possibly fill no matter how hard he tries once acquaintances, friends, and family start asking questions. He is not ready to offer answers; he is not ready to voice “we’re done for” loudly and accept the finality of said statement. He feels defeated, like the captain of a wrecked ship.

           However,  Zayn spends a solid minute glaring at him without even blinking, daring him to stay one more second in this pathetic state, and he feels a tad intimidated. So, he stands up from the couch and drags his feet towards the bathroom. He takes a shower for the first time in a couple of days and even takes the time to shave. When he steps out of the tiny restroom, he notices that his friend has put out a change of clean clothes for him; a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt, the  _ ‘not heartbroken’ _ one, he notes. He feels a wave of gratitude that gives him the push to actually put on effort on this. He feels cared for, so he gets dressed, and even styles his hair to look decent enough so he won’t scare off anyone.

           “There you go!” Zayn exclaims when he sees him come out into the living room, a big smile upon his face. Louis smiles a bit, still grateful but also feeling like a child that needs to be watched over. “We’re going to Niall’s, c’mon!”

           He follows Zayn towards the spot where he parks his motorcycle, takes the helmet that his friend hands him and puts it on a bit cautiously in order not to mess up his hair more than it already is.

           It has been a few weeks since he has last seen his best mates; therefore, he does not know how much they know about his breakup with Sam, if they are aware of it, or if Zayn has told them about how he vomited on his carpet too many times to count during the past week. He is nervous, though he does not voice it as his grip around his friend’s waist tightens slightly. However, feeling fresh and clean, and having the wind blow on his face as he rides on Zayn’s motorbike make him hope that maybe today can be a good day.

In fact, seeing his friends has a positive effect on him. He was initially worried that they might treat him differently, but they interact with him just the same as before. As if he hasn’t dropped off the surface of Earth for two weeks because he had been dumped. Despite the clear sadness in his demeanor, they do not walk on eggshells around him; it is nice, even if he feels like he is a house of cards, so fragile and unstable that a small blow of air might make him fall apart and the pieces of him to fly out in different directions.

Two hours after having arrived find them with Zayn in the kitchen, trying to cook something actually edible and decent with what he can find in Niall’s cupboards or fridge, while Niall and Liam fight each other on Street Fighter and Louis sporadically bursts into cackles whenever the Irish man tries to cheat-which causes him to be hit by the other bigger and bulkier man. He watches with fondness as they banter and shove each other off, one of the controls flying out at some point; the lump in his throat loosens up a bit, and he can somehow breathe. He avoids checking his social media accounts, and tries to keep his Sam-related thoughts at the back of his mind.

At some point, there is a knock on the door. Niall is only seconds away from defeating Liam so he tells the other two to go get the door. Zayn wipes his hands on a kitchen cloth and walks out from the tiny kitchen, having heard the boy’s orders.  

“It’s probably Harry, I’ll go get it.”

           “Harry? Harry who?” Liam asks, a look of confusion upon his face. Louis tenses when he hears the name.

           “Harry as in our friend from high school who fucked off to America and now has a networth of 50 million dollars.” Niall answers, matter-of-factly, gaining a disapproving look from Zayn, who walks towards the door to fulfill his task as the knocks become slightly incessant the more they take to open. “I don’t know how many euros that is.” He adds, and then yells when Liam slaps his hand, dropping the control again and making the other man gain advantage over him as he tries to take it from the floor and get back on the fight.

           “How the fuck?” Liam inquires, frowning.

           “Zayn’s been talking to him for a week or so.” The other man scowls deeper, slightly weirded out if he says so himself.

           With remnants of a smile, Zayn opens the door to the tall, rather lanky, long-haired boy. He has a camera hanging off his neck, and animal print sunglasses on the top of his head; the first word that comes to Louis’ mind upon seeing him is ‘ _ odd’ _ . He has always been odd, though, that was one of his charms.

           “Hi, mate!” Zayn greets him with a smile, shaking his hand in a friendly manner. Another odd thing, in Louis’ opinion, is the fact that no one from his group of friends ever found out about whatever was going on between the two of them back then. He regrets never telling them now. Had Zayn known, he would not have invited him today. Knowing him, he probably thought seeing the boy would cheer him up.

“Hi,” the tall boy greets awkwardly, holding up two packs of beers. “I brought beer.” He still has that slightly shy, albeit insecure demeanor, Louis notes, as he looks unsure if he has done the right thing or if he has made a wrong choice.

Niall’s approving yell from the living room tells him otherwise, and he smiles a tiny smile.

“That’s good. Come in.” Zayn steps aside in order to let the guy in. “Well, the boys are fighting a death-or-life battle of Street Fighter, so be warned.”  He says, gaining a small chuckle from the tall man. They walk towards the living room, where Niall and Liam are still exchanging obscenities. “Niall, you’re going to scare our guest away.”

Niall pauses the game in order to greet his guest-though Liam does not do anything to acknowledge him other than a tiny wave of his hand while he surreptitiously unpauses the game. “Hello, Ha-”, his sentence is cut off by the unmistakably chant of victory from his friend, who fist pumps in the air triumphantly, and he gasps-loud and dramatic-because if there are two words that can describe Niall, they are _dramatic_ and _loud_.

Louis is torn between feeling embarrassed or endeared by his friends’ childish antics. He looks up, tearing his eyes from the floor where he has been staring at since the moment the door closed, and upon locking eyes with the newcomer, he gets a shy wave of the hand from him and a small smile. He does not return any of the gestures.

Harry sits on one of the loveseats, the feeling of inadequacy coming back as he takes a look at the flat that, he notes, is smaller than his bathroom, and the guys whom he used to spend endless hours with playing the same game they used to play but that he cannot remember a single thing from.

          A beeping coming from the kitchen catches Zayn’s attention and he leaves immediately, realizing it is from the oven in which he has put a lasagna to cook. That leaves Harry with a pair of boys too engrossed in the game to pay attention to his presence, and the boy who  _ probably  _ would rather see the Devil itself than him.   

          He suddenly wants to leave, to open the emails sitting in his inbox and accept the invitations to parties in the Hamptons and Soho. Because here, he is obviously unwanted, and he does not know if that is worse than being wanted for superficial motives, and because it’s all too much, too much, too hard. He does not know what to do to get back some of the humanity he has lost along the way.

         There is a celebratory yell; someone has won in Street Fighter, and then a slap; Niall has cheated. Again. Harry chuckles, realizing the boys have not changed a lot since he was part of this group, despite their less awkward fashion style and facial hair. Liam does look stronger now; the bullies that tormented his school years would probably be scared of even stumbling by him in the hallway, and he has a plethora of tattoos on his arms; but he keeps shouting about playing fair and how having won by cheating is not fulfilling.

           As for Niall, he had the chance to interact with him a few days ago at the diner, when he arrived and Harry was having breakfast while talking about the horrible soap opera that had premiered in the local channel the day before. He is still a hardcore sports fan, got into a heated argument with Zayn when he dared say golf was boring, he is still witty and insightful, though easygoing and probably one of the friendliest people he has ever met.

           Not being able to stand the tense atmosphere, Louis stands up from the couch, walking in the direction that his mate had followed minutes before. He feels a pair of eyes boring holes onto his back but he successfully ignores it. He leans against the counter and watches as Zayn pulls out a tray from the oven. The meal does not look very appetizing; it is only a few layers of doughy pasta with watery red sauce, and Louis grimaces a bit. Zayn sighs.

           “There is nothing in this house we can eat.” He states, putting the tray harshly on the counter and picking at it with a fork.

           “It’s Niall, he lives off cafeteria food.” Louis points out, taking a bite from the pseudo-lasagna. He pulls a funny face and forces it down his throat, not wanting to spit it out with his friends looking at him.

           “Yeah.” Silence reigns in the tiny space of the kitchen as Zayn puts the meal in a tupperware and in the fridge. He turns towards his friend’s direction in order to wash the kitchen utensils he has used and sees him with a pensive expression. “You don’t seem very excited about Harry’s presence.” Louis looks at him, passes him the pot where he has boiled the sauce before.

           “It’s just.” He bites his lips, wonders how he can get his thoughts across without revealing too many details. “Why did you invite him over?”

           “It wasn’t me. It was Niall.” He answers. Louis’ mouth forms a small  _ O _ in surprise, but he does not say more so Zayn continues. ”However, you two were very close, he thought you and Liam would like to see him.”

“Why would I like to see someone who completely kicked me out of his life?” He says in a defensive manner, which causes his best mate to look at him through narrowed eyes. Maybe he has made it too personal by saying  _ me  _ instead of  _ us _ ; Zayn has some sort of sixth sense for these things, especially when it came to him.

           However, if he notices anything, he does not mention it. “It’s been almost four years, Louis, you have to get over it.”

_ Truth hurts, _ Louis thinks to himself. Because Zayn is right; he cannot hold grudges against the man forever, there is no use in it.

           “Besides,” Zayn continues, “Harry is going through a shitty situation himself…”

           “And you, Saint Malik, thought we could play friends to make him feel better?” At that, Zayn rolls his eyes, somewhat annoyed at Louis’ brattiness. Louis wants to be mad at him, for not understanding that seeing him  _ hurts _ . That his presence is just a constant reminder that he was not enough, that there was something better than him somewhere in La La Land. But Zayn does not know, due to the fact that  _ he  _ has willingly chosen not to tell him so he is aware that he is being irrational.

           “Stop that, and yeah, he seemed miserable, almost as miserable as you, so I thought hanging out with his old friends would be helpful. I also thought it’d be nice to have the group together again, so be civil, at least.”

           It is now Louis’ turn to sigh. “Fine.” He is about to ask what exactly is that happened with Harry that seems so catastrophic in Zayn’s point of view, but then he is interrupted by Liam coming into the kitchen, stretching his arms behind his neck and asking for his portion of lasagna right away, not leaving any time for Louis to voice his question.

           “Sorry, Liam, it’s inedible.” Zayn tells him, gaining a whine from the man. Louis takes a moment to look at the living room; where Niall is animatedly explaining to Harry how to play the game on the console, the boy only nodding from time to time and looking between the screen and his joystick, seemingly confused. Defeated, he goes to sit next to the boys on the couch, boringly watching their fight. He smiles lowly to himself when he sees that the character Harry has picked is Chun-Li.

 -

          That night, letting curiosity get the best of him, he decides to look at some gossip websites and figure out what exactly Zayn was talking about earlier. He gasps when he reads one of the articles with the most hits on People: “ _ Harry Styles Cheated On by Radio Host Nicholas Grimshaw” _ .  He takes a minute to process it all.

          If he was a bad person, he would feel some sort of satisfaction over it. He would smirk and mutter something about karma doing its work. But instead, he feels his stomach churn with dread and sympathy for the boy.  

          See, his breakup with Sam has left him with more wounds than he has bandaids to cover with, and a string of insecurities that he cannot quite shake off yet. He cannot even begin to imagine ever going through a situation like that; it would destroy him. No one deserves that feeling of not being enough no matter how terrible some of their actions have been in the past.

          Despite everything, Louis remembers Harry as a kind-hearted boy. Yes, he fucked him over, but it would be unfair of him to cancel out all the wonderful personality traits that once made him love him so much. So, knowing someone has dared do something so vile to him makes the rancor that has built up in his chest dissipate and be replaced by a sense of sadness.

           He hears the door to the room open, so he closes the tab with the news about Harry Styles immediately. Zayn enters with a plate in his hands and walks over to Louis’ bed instead of his own.

          “Move over.” Zayn tells him and Louis obeys, beaming when the dark-haired boy hands him the plate with a sandwich and an apple that he has brought from the campus dining hall. The bed shifts under the slim boy’s weight as he sits next to his friend. They stay quiet as Louis happily eats the meal given to him. Earlier at Niall’s house, Harry has offered to buy them dinner. To which Niall, Liam and Zayn all excitedly agreed and they ended up ordering in. But being his petulant self, Louis did not touch any of it.

-

          Two days pass without having to see the singer. Though he is partially relieved, he still has a faint feeling of guilt nagging at the back of his mind. Zayn has been right; holding grudges is useless, and even more if it is something that has happened years ago while they were still teens and too clueless to even know the meaning of their promises.

          He hears the bell from the door jingle but he does not take his eyes off from the sheet of paper where he is drawing some doodles, the tip of his tongue peeking out from his lips in a sign of concentration. The other side of the sheet has the store’s inventory for the week, in which he has worked for most of his shift because it has been a slow day, client-wise. He can hear Perrie, the waitress, singing happily as she mops the floor and occasionally does some sick dance moves. Louis is all but used to it by now, and it is one of the things he enjoys about having her as his co-worker; she makes even the most dull days entertaining.

           “Louis, dear!”  He hears an over-excited feminine voice squeak and he immediately looks up, frowning a bit in confusion as he knows that is not Perrie’s voice.  He gasps in surprise as he sees Amelie in front of him and reaching out across the counter to pull him into a big embrace. He reciprocates it after one beat too long, locking eyes with the woman’s son behind her back, who is looking at him sheepishly.

           “Mom wanted to see you.” He says, as if justifying his presence during his shift and not Zayn’s. They pull away and Amelie smiles widely again, telling him how handsome he has become. He is speechless for a moment, not knowing how to react.

           “Hi, Mrs. Styles, how are you?” He says in the end, a small smile on his lips. He looks at her; black straight hair falling on her shoulders, a beige coat on her slim figure with a scarf wrapped around her neck; she looks beautiful and expensive. He shifts uncomfortably under her gaze, feeling somewhat inadequate in his worn-out Adidas hoodie and beanie. She sits on the high tool, setting her phone, purse, and elbows on the counter to seemingly initiate conversation with the boy; she tells him to address her by first-name basis, and orders her son to sit by her side.

           “How’s school?” She asks him, sipping the orange juice Louis has brought for her. In the distance, Perrie is staring at Harry through narrowed eyes, as if trying to remember from where she has seen him. It is somewhat funny; he has conquered the world, but this tiny hometown that watched him grow barely knows his name. It is both a relief and a blow to his ego.  It is true what people say about prophets not being loved in their own lands.

           “Great, I’m on my fifth semester of Education.” They fall into easy conversation; and even though Amelie has adopted a posh accent and her anecdotes have become slightly extravagant, she is still the kindhearted woman that so many times welcomed him in her house. Harry only watches them quietly, not knowing if his comments would be appreciated by Louis.

          At some point, Amelie excuses herself, presumably to go to the toilets, leaving the two boys in awkward silence.

           “I’m sorry if we’re bothering you, I mentioned coming here to mum and she wouldn’t stop bugging me about bringing her so she could see you.” Harry says, picking at his cupcake. Louis sighs, tells himself it is time to stop his childishness.

           “It’s okay, it’s nice seeing her after so long.” He states, offering a smile to demonstrate that he is being sincere. The other reciprocates the gesture nervously, putting a piece of the pastry inside his mouth.

          After a minute, Louis voices a question, tries to dissipate the awkward tension around them. “Have you enjoyed these days in Doncaster?”

           “Oh, yeah,” Harry looks surprised at first that the other lad is actually initiating a conversation, so he momentarily looks at a loss for words. “Yes, it has been a quiet few days, I have enjoyed the tranquility.” He admits, Louis finds it ironic that it was that same tranquility what he once wanted to escape. Remembers sleepless nights talking on the phone, and Harry confessing him that nothing ever happened here, that it made his life monotonous. He does not mention that, though.

           They make some more small talk, until Amelie comes back and she becomes the center of attention once again. When the place starts to fill in with exhausted workers, they decide it is time to leave the boy to do his job. They say their farewells and exit the diner.

           Louis is left with an uncertain feeling. It has been weird occurrence, but it has been fairly pleasant. Well, mostly because of Amelie, but Harry does not seem like the arrogant, cocky prick that online magazines paint him to be. He is not sure if it is out of pity, but maybe Niall’s idea is not so bad after all.

           Perrie comes back by his side, a frown still on her face and her index finger pressing on her lips in wonder. “Was that the guy from The Vamps?” She asks, finally, tilting her head to the side. Louis chuckles, shaking his head and handing her a tray with a group of students’ order so she can take it to their table. 

-

           When morning comes, Harry finds himself staring at the ceiling in thought. The previous day has been… odd, for lack of a better term. He has fully expected to be treated coldly, but Louis’ behavior has taken a ninety degree turn. At first, he has thought it might have been because of his mother’s presence, but then he had still talked to him when she left for the loo. In a civil manner, with no sarcastic comments.

           He questions whether or not it would be a good idea to test his luck and visit the diner again. The other night has been a lovely experience at Niall’s house. He has spent hours playing video games with them, and he hasn’t had that much fun since, well, he does not remember. Niall has been the most welcoming person, he has never been one to hold grudges against people, and had accepted him back right away. Liam has been a bit stoic at the beginning, but later into the evening, he started looking more comfortable and, once Harry expressed his desire to play some footie, he started making plans, including him in them.

           Zayn has been the one who was more open to him, he guesses it is because back then, he and the raven-haired boy were not exactly the closest ones, so his departure might have not affected him that much. However, he mostly has kept to Louis’ side since the older boy has refused to partake in any activity-including eating the dinner Harry had bought.

           He gets up from the bed, stretching lazily and looking around. There is a poster of The Rolling Stones taped to one of the walls; he remembers lying on this same bed years and years ago, staring at that same poster and dreaming of a stardom like theirs. Singing his songs and having a million voices singing them back to him; hopping from one airplane to another in cities he cannot quite remember ever hearing in his geography class. All of that seems so shallow now; so pointless.

          He grabs a jacket from the chair where he had thrown it last night, pulls a beanie on his greasy, messy hair and a pair of neon sneakers. He steps out of his room and the silence that fills the house is an indication that his mother has not woken up yet, so he takes a post-it from the stack on one of the tables in the living room and writes down a note for her that simply says that he will go get them some breakfast.

           He puts his earbuds in and steps out of the house, being greeted by a chilly wisp of 8:30 AM air. The streets are still fairly lonely, only a few still-sleepy students waiting at the bus stop. He opens the door to the diner and spots Louis wiping the counter with a towel. Harry allows himself to look at the boy; he is wearing a lilac knit jumper that covers half his fingers, and his hair is disheveled in a way that makes him look effortlessly attractive, as if he has been attempting to do a quiff but gave up midway.

           The boy must feel the pair of eyes on him, because he looks up from the obnoxious stain he has been trying to wipe off and meets Harry’s stare. He blushes, having been caught red-handed staring at him shamelessly. In what has become a routine now, he walks towards the counter, sheepishly greeting the boy across from him. He waves his hand at Perrie, who is staring at him with a puzzled look on her face again.

           “You’ve taken a liking to this cheap place, haven’t you?” Louis voices, ready to go inside the kitchen to grab Harry’s meal which he has memorized already. There is no bite in his statement, and he tries to adopt a soft voice, but it does not seem to work as the singer pursues his lips and scowls a bit.

           “Uh, I can come back later when-” he starts to say, looking genuinely apologetic. And yeah, Louis feels a tad guilty.

           “I was just taking the piss, mate.” Louis clarifies, and offers a genuine smile. There is an initial moment of awkward silence, with Harry picking at a loose thread on his jeans, until Louis decides that it is really time to turn the page and move on. He goes for a good-natured joke.

           “So, you have long hair now. You’ve almost lost your curls.” He comments, leaning forwards a bit so he can pull at a strand of hair. “Did I not tell you that curls get the girls, Harold?” Harry seems to brighten up considerably, beaming at the use of the petname. One that he has not been referred to as in years.

           “I don’t think that’s something I am particularly concerned about, Lou.” His own nickname for the other slips off his tongue easily. At first, he seems a bit scandalized that he has done that, not knowing how Louis might react, but the boy only smiles. After that, they make some small talk, and fall into conversation. It is a bit forced at some points, with tiny moments of uncomfortable silence but it’s progress. It is nice, and Louis feels so much better now that he does not constantly want to disintegrate the man with his eyes.

           There are feelings of bitterness and resentment somewhere deep down, but he is only human, and he is putting a large amount of effort into getting rid of them. He deserves some credit for not going through with his plan of creating a voodoo doll and torturing him with it instead.

           When Harry finishes his tuna sandwich, and the carrot and orange juice-Louis swears he is the only person who has ever ordered that-he is about to leave but Louis stops him by grabbing his upper arm lightly.

           “Hey, me and the boys and some other friends are going over to the park in the afternoon. Would you, eh, like to come?” Louis actually mentally congratulates himself for being such a mature person. He deserves a medal. “Play footie, have a proper picnic and all.”

           “Oh,” he remembers he has promised to have a Skype meeting at 5 PM with Jeff and Glenne, but. Screw that. “Sure, I’d love to.”

           “Okay, then, we’ll meet at Niall’s so we can go from there.” Louis points out, handing him his phone in a silent request to put in his phone number. Harry obliges, even going as far as putting an emoji next to his own name.

           “A banana? Really?” Harry chuckles, slightly embarrassed. “You’re just as weird as I remember you.”

-

           Louis and Zayn arrive in the latter’s motorbike, and Liam and Niall are already waiting outside Niall’s building, Liam with a football under his arm and Niall with a pack of beer in one hand. Perrie is also with them, much to everyone’s dismay because she is the only one who can actually compete against Liam in football, and two other girls from Niall’s class; Eleanor and Sophia. The two newcomers greet them all, carrying some food that Zayn has cooked at their flat.

           “Okay, so we ready to go?” Liam asks, actually counting them all to make sure no one is missing.

           “No, wait!” Louis interrupts them when they are heading towards the direction of the park. It is only twenty minutes by walking. “Harry hasn’t arrived yet.”  

           Zayn turns towards his direction so fast Louis almost chuckles.

           “Who invited him?” He looks at him through narrowed eyes, clearly confused.

           “I did.” Louis answers, and just when he is about to be questioned by Zayn, and probably the rest of their friends, Harry arrives. He has parked  his car in a parking lot nearby so he comes jogging, with beads of sweat in his forehead, hair pulled back in a bun but still damp, with some tiny strands sticking to his skin.

           “Hey, sorry I’m late!” He stops abruptly, almost losing his balance, and Louis feels somewhat endeared because not even all those years of stardom and media training have changed the way he manages himself like a baby deer that has not quite learned how to use its limbs yet.

           “Nah, mate, we were just about to leave. Let’s go.” They start walking, Eleanor and Sophia whispering something between each other while looking at the singer suspiciously. Louis walks ahead, kicking the ball with Perrie and Liam.

           They arrive at the park, which is a wide open field of green, vivid grass, a pond in the distance and a grand variety of trees and flowers. Students usually hang out around there, since it is close to one of the main dorms in town and is a nice, peaceful place to relieve stress. There are not many people now, though; only some kids playing tag, a couple making out under an oak tree that has too many names carved onto its trunk, and a man walking his dog. There is no noise other than the faint laughter of the kids, some birds chirping in the distance, and of course; the bantering of his friends. Harry loves it right away.

           When they set their things on the ground, they split in two teams right away. Harry, Liam, and Niall team up while Louis goes with Eleanor and Perrie. Admittedly, Harry originally wanted to team up with Louis; but the boy has been quick to choose the girls so he ends up with the other boys instead.

           Zayn sets up the most stereotypical red and white checkered blanket on the grass and lays down on it, not interested in taking part in the game, and Sophia comes to sit by his side, uncapping a bottle of water to take a sip.

           Turns out, all of them are very, very competitive and Harry is... well, awful at sports. He can play golf, but that is it. Likes watching games and sharing opinions and screaming at the TV when the players do not do as he wishes, but actually taking part in them; that’s another story. So, thirty minutes in his team is losing 1-4.

          “You be the goalkeeper, I cannot handle this anymore.” Niall tells him after the third time the ball is stolen from him. Zayn watches from the distance, entertained by the disaster unfolding before his eyes.

           Eleanor takes the ball and throws it from a corner, to which Sophia cheers loudly from her spot on the blanket, blushing when Zayn smirks at her. Niall is the one to catch the ball, running with it towards the makeshift goal, which is two logs placed adjacent to each other. He is half a second away from passing it to Liam but Louis comes and steals it from him.

           “Sorry, mate!” He shouts, and springs in the opposite direction.

           “Louis, here!” Perrie screams, only a few meters from the other goal with none of the boys near. He passes it to her in a swift kick that makes the ball fly, she receives it with her chest and runs. Harry panics a bit when he sees her running in his direction, but he bends his knees and readies himself to keep the ball from passing the goal. Perrie kicks the ball with full force and it passes just by Harry’s side, whose reflex betrays him and reacts too late. A shriek is heard from Perrie’s position, which is soon joined by cheers from her teammates and complaints from Niall and Liam.

           “C’mon, Harry, you told me you wanted to play footie the other day!” Liam whines, glaring at the other three who are hugging in celebration.

           “I said I wanted to play, not that I was good.”

           “Cut him some slack, mate, he’s trying.” Louis defends him, walking towards the two boys with a smile on his face. Harry cannot help but stare in awe; his face is flushed red, his hair matted to his forehead due to the sweat, but he still manages to look so good. “He’s not at fault that our dear Perrie is so good.”

           “Hey, I’m a pretty good goalkeeper as well!” Eleanor exclaims playfully, putting her hands on her hips in mock offense. Louis chuckles and rolls his eyes affectionately.

           “Of course you are, love.” He says, booping her nose.

           “Let’s go!” She yells, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards Perrie’s direction so they can all resume the game. Watching the interaction, Harry’s smile drops quickly and an unsettling feelings sets at the pit of his stomach. With a confused facial expression, he approaches his own teammates, and Niall starts yelling instructions of their next strategy right away.

           From then on, Harry watches Eleanor and Louis closely and he finds it that he does not particularly like it when they score; and hug each other while  Louis sways her. It is weird, and he should not be feeling such thing; but it is there, boiling at the bottom of his stomach until his good mood starts to fade.

           Ten minutes later, they call it quits; with Louis, Eleanor and Perrie winning by five points. Liam and Niall glare at him but he shrugs; he does not understand why they take it so seriously, but it is amusing either way. The girls and Louis start walking towards Zayn and Sophia, thirsty and panting but with big smiles plastered over their faces; Harry admires their ability to find such joy in something as small as a victory in an unofficial game in a park with goals made of logs. Before the other two lads follow their same direction, Harry decides to ask them something that has been floating around in his mind for half an hour now.

           “Hey, guys?”

           “Yeah?”

           “Uh,” he tries to sound as casual and as nonchalant as possible, “are they dating?” He questions, pointing at Eleanor and Louis with his index finger.

           “Who? Eleanor and Louis?” Niall voices out loud, widening his eyes so much that Harry worries they are going to fall off of their sockets.

           “Eh, why don’t you let that be your answer?” Liam tells him, pointing at the direction where Eleanor is walking towards their spot on the grass, Harry turns around in time to see her sitting on the blanket, and pressing a small, chaste kiss on Sophia’s lips. His mouth forms a small  _ o _ as realization hits him. “ _ Oh _ .”

           “Yeah.” Niall chuckles beside him, and Liam abandons them in favor of jogging towards their friends and getting something to drink. Then, the Irish boy adopts a devilish smile. “Why do you ask?”

           “Oh, uh, well, nothing, just- just curious, mate, ‘s all.” He stutters so pathetically that Niall laughs loudly this time, but decides to cut him some slack as he sees the blush that starts to appear on his face.

           “Okay, whatever you say, let’s go then, I’m starving!”

           Once everyone is gathered on the ground, Zayn takes the paper plates he has brought from his backpack, putting some of the meal he has cooked at home on them and passing them around. It is a bittersweet type of roast chicken, with brown, fried rice, and it is a quite simple dish, but everyone loves it.

           “Did you make this, Zayn? It is so good!” Harry exclaims, actually licking some grease from his lips. Zayn nods shyly, always so bashful when he receives compliments.

           “You have to have a taste of the curry he makes! It’s out of this world!” Louis exclaims, putting the disposable plate inside a trash bag they have brought. “I’m going to make him cook that next time, none of those fancy dishes you’ve had in posh places will compare!” He exclaims, which prompts him to be elbowed by Zayn in the ribs. Harry beams brightly, happy about the promise of a next time.

           They pack their things at 8 in the evening, Eleanor and Sophia call an Uber and leave a bit earlier, while the rest walks towards Niall’s building where they have parked their vehicles. They tiredly drag their feet across the silent streets, walking under the light of tall lampposts and some flickering stars up in the vast indigo sky. Louis and Harry walk side by side, shoulders unintentionally bumping from time to time.

           Niall waves at them his goodbyes and walks inside his building once they arrive to their destination, while Liam offers Perrie a ride. Harry lingers around Louis and Zayn for a minute, while the latter starts up his motorcycle.

           “I had a lovely time,” the singer says, scratching at a spot on the back of his neck due to nerves. He offers a tiny smile, “thank you for inviting me. I really needed that.” Louis’ facial expression softens, and he tilts his head to the side, smiling as well.

           “It was lovely to have you, Harold.” He hesitates a bit at first, but he slings his arms around the taller boy’s torso, giving him a quick hug, once that is barely there and Harry does not even have enough time to register it and respond when Louis is already pulling away and hopping on Zayn’s motorbike.

           “What was that?” Zayn asks once they are on their way to their own flat, he is not going too fast so he does not have to raise his voice that much. Louis refuses to answer, not knowing what exactly to say; he has acted on instinct, has not thought his actions before hugging the boy. But he looked so vulnerable, that he has not been able to help wanting to offer some comfort. He mumbles something unintelligible but Zayn leaves it, not wanting to hit a nerve.

           They head straight to their beds once they are home and showered, feeling worn out. Louis wonders why his friend is so tired if all he has done is lay down, gossip with Sophia and doodle on his sketchbook, but he does not mention it.

           He thinks Zayn has fallen asleep, but after a few minutes, his raspy voice interrupts the silence of the night.

           “Did you have a good time?” He asks, and Louis knows the meaning behind the question. He wants to know whether he has been able to get his mind off everything Sam related. And, he can honestly say that indeed, he has not crossed his mind during the day. It is progress, he thinks.

           “Yeah.” He answers, honestly. And then he hears the other boy mumble  _ ‘I’m glad’  _ before the rustle of bedsheets and blankets. He thinks that healing, maybe, is not so impossible after all.

           Until he checks his social media.

           He gets comfortable in bed, feeling fresh physically and emotionally. There is a smile on his face that is a result of something akin to hope blooming in his chest. So, before going to sleep, he decides to scroll through some of his social media applications, liking a picture of Eleanor’s dog and commenting on Perrie’s post about kicking Niall, Liam, and Harry’s asses in football. He smiles fondly at them, his friends might be insufferable sometimes, but they truly bring light to his life. He keeps scrolling down as his eyelids begin to droop a little, scowling at a  _ ‘one share one prayer’ _ picture that his aunt has posted, until he passes a photo and his smile falters, slowly disappearing from his face as he continues looking at the image and reads the caption.

          It is Sam. Sam and a man; he has a huge smile and  the man is kissing his cheek. They look so incredibly happy, and Louis’ insides fill with rancor, sadness and hurt. The caption is a line from some corny song about finding your soulmate and falling in love and happily ever afters.

_ Love _ .

           It has only been two weeks since they have broken up; so if whatever that exists between these two is anything close to love, then it must have been going on for a while.

           Tears begin prickling at his eyes when such realization hits him; he muffles a tiny sob with his pillow in order to avoid waking up Zayn.

           Is he that replaceable? Is he that easy to forget? Is he that hard to love?

           Resentment starts making its way through his mind. He has had a wonderful day, he has been able to create wonderful memories with his friends, and then he had to come and ruin it. It is not fair. It is not fair that he is still so attached to the man while he is out there, happily showing off his new relationship not even a month after having broken Louis’ heart along with his sense of self-worth. It is even humiliating, remembering all the crying and all the begging he has done in front of him; promising he would be less clingy, less moody, less demanding, less  _ him  _ if only he stayed.

           None of it has worked, of course, because he already had it planned to fuck off to this man’s arms. At least he has had the decency to break up with him first, Louis will give him that.

           Now, more than sad, he feels angry, bitter; and one of his biggest flaws has always been to respond emotionally to events, so he clicks on his own profile on Facebook, and then  _ settings _ . He goes through his personal information and changes his relationship status to ‘in a relationship’ and makes sure to share the post on his timeline. In case that is not enough, he writes a new status, typing the lyrics of a song by Taylor Swift and adding more heart emojis than necessary. He is aware that he is being childish, and this might come back to slap him in the face, but he is bitter and heartbroken and mad so he cannot be blamed for his actions. Before his notifications start going off with curious or scandalized comments, he turns his phone off. Loneliness creeps in, but the exhaustion of the day and the dried tears tiring his eyes out end up lulling him to a restless sleep.

-

          Next morning he walks into the living room to find Zayn already up, eating cereal and watching cartoons. He greets him and walks straight to their kitchen in order to prepare his own bowl of Coco Puffs. Once he has done so, he sits by the other’s side. He turns the WiFi on to check for any new notifications and to be honest, he is quite surprised when his phone immediately starts going off. He has some messages on Signal which he expected, he replies to some, apologizing to Niall for leaving him on read last night and muting a group conversation with some classmates. Mostly, though, he has a lot of notifications from Facebook, which is weird, usually the only two alerts he gets daily are friends sending him requests in Farmville. He opens one and then it all hits him at once.

           “Oh, damn.” He mutters to himself, immediately regretting every choice that has led him to this exact moment in his life. Perrie has left a comment with a few gasping faces on his status with the cheesy song lyric, Niall openly asks _ ‘who you shagging?’ _ , Eleanor is the only nice one who only leaves a heart emoji. From now on, she is her only friend. He feels a mixture of embarrassment, dread and sadness when he realizes Sam has sent him a text message as well.

_ ‘So, you’re seeing someone already?’  _ It reads.

            Who does he think he is?

           His breathing hitches, and he puts his phone away. He knows he has brought this upon himself for acting without thinking and taking decisions when he is not in a right state of mind, but it hurts. It hurts that Sam still has that kind of control over him.

           After putting the bowl away on top of a pile of dirty dishes, he goes to their room to change, feeling Zayn’s judging stare on his back. He ignores it, though, not wanting to give any explanations at the moment. Right now, he only wants to get dressed, attend his crappy job and maybe get back home to die.

           When he is sat on the toilet, contemplating all of the ways he could possibly flush himself down the drain, he receives a text message. It is Harry.

_ ‘hey :) would u like to go see a play tonight? bought a ticket for mum but she had to go back to cheshire.’ _

           He frowns a bit, not expecting to receive a message from him, let alone an invitation to watch a play. He wonders if he still remembers how dedicated he used to be to school plays, and all the times Harry would go support him, front row, sitting next to his mother and his six siblings, always with one of the youngest twins on his lap. Before he can reply, he gets another text message.

_ ‘it’s ok if you don't want to, tho.’ _

           He does not answer right away, rather takes the time to think about it, and whether or not it would be a good idea to accept. Once he is dressed, he decides that he has really nothing to lose, and decides to go for it.

_ ‘Sure, which play is it?’ _ He presses send, and patiently waits for Harry’s response, which comes almost right away. Louis snorts, a world-famous celebrity and he doesn’t have anyone else to text.

_ ‘Bye bye birdie, do you know it?’ _

           Louis reads as he steps out of his room, waving goodbye to Zayn who barely looks up from a drawing he is working on in favour of wishing him a good day. He plugs his earbuds into his ears and plays the latest album by Imagine Dragons, which has become his favorite as of late.

_ ‘Heard of it, but I’ve never watched it. Sounds good then :)’. _

           Zayn has been right the other day; living in a constant pathetic state is not going to do him any good. He is better than this, he can get over this and cope in a healthy manner. Going out and doing something that he has always enjoyed, even before he started dating Sam, will be good for him.

_ ‘Great, pick you up at 7’. _

           He spends the whole day texting Harry back and forth, and surprisingly enough, he enjoys it. It keeps him entertained for the day and his thoughts do not travel to Sam-related things too often. Harry has a sour sense of humor, and he definitely types faster than he talks. Sometimes he seems to be tentative, not knowing if he is stepping over some boundaries, and Louis wants to tell him that things are okay now but he lets it be. It would not be completely a lie, but it wouldn’t be a complete truth either.

           Soon, he finds himself wearing a pair of black skinnies with black sneakers and an  oversized jumper, waiting for Harry to arrive. Zayn and Eleanor are sitting across from him, both watching him surreptitiously as he scrolls down on his Twitter application, retweeting someone who has called Donald Trump an expired cheeto. He comes across a tweet about none other than his date for the night. Some sort of algorithm might have connected his location to the fact that the article talks about him arriving in Yorkshire, but that he has been missing in action ever since. He expands the tweet and fans are discussing a rumor about him actually having gotten back with Nicholas and that they have escaped to some sort of paradisiac island to mend things. He snorts.

           There is a knock on the door, and he stands up so quick his friends widen his eyes at each other, but he ignores them both. He opens the door to the boy, who looks extremely gorgeous in a blue blouse with white polka dots, skinny jeans and brown boots. His hair cascades around his face until it stops on his shoulders, gathering in a lovely nest of curls. Louis blushes slightly when he realizes he has been staring. Harry seems to be taken aback by the boy as well, as he stutters a bit before saying, “you look- uh, very good.”

           From the couch, Zayn and Eleanor snicker mischievously. The singer seems to hear them, because he looks towards their direction and greets them with a big smile. He has originally asked Zayn, but he suggested asking Louis since he already had plans with the girl. Consequently, he spent an hour contemplating whether it would be a good idea to indeed invite the boy. At the moment, he is very glad he has done so.

          “So, ready to go?” He asks, and Louis nods, waving goodbye to his friends.

           “Bring him back by eleven!” Zayn says as they are stepping out the door, to which Louis responds by putting his hand behind his back, flipping him the bird.

           They walk in silence, Harry keeping his head low when they pass some students gathered in the hallway. Fortunately, they are as high as a kite on something that does not exactly look like weed and would not be able to recognize him even if he came up to them and announced his name.

The ride to the theater is rather short. Louis is wide-eyed as he steps inside and he swears he has never been inside or even close to anything so expensive as Harry’s car. The boy laughs it off when he comments on it, saying it did not really cost that much. Louis rolls his eyes at his sorry attempt of sounding humble, but smiles nevertheless.

“So, you got any of your music here?” Louis inquires a few minutes into the ride, pointing at the sound system to which Harry has plugged his iPod. Harry takes his eyes away from the road for a second to look at the boy curiously, but then he nods.

“I must admit,” Louis does not even ask before he is taking Harry’s cell phone, scrolling through his music gallery, “I’ve only heard your commercial stuff - _Drag Me Down_ , I think, is the name of that famous song you got out.” He finds a song credited to the singer with a name that he quite likes, and presses play.

“I feel hurt.” Harry jokes as the first chords of a song named _Something Great_ begin to play.

_ I was hurt _ , Louis wants to say, but he bites his tongue and instead focuses on the song. It is rather lovely, with sweet lyrics and a trace of pain in his low voice. He finds that he really likes it, now that he is open to listening to him without turning the device off.

“Do you like it?” Harry asks tentatively once it is over, and he nods, smiling sincerely. A song by a band called Milburn starts playing and Louis perks up significantly.

“Oh, I love that song!” He exclaims, turning the volume up. “You have good taste, Harold.” Harry smiles, endearment filling his heart when the lad sitting in his passenger seat starts shouting the lyrics of _Bring the Boys In_ , adding air drums and all. Harry does not mention it was Louis who gave him their album on his fifteenth birthday.

Four minutes later find them inside the venue, waiting for the doors to open to the salon where the comedy musical will take place. They are engaged in a conversation about reviews they have read online regarding the play when two girls come up to them.

“Um, excuse me?” One of them says, looking unsure of herself, while the other is holding onto her hand, looking like she might pass out any second. Louis is undoubtedly surprised by their presence, not knowing what they would want, but Harry is the opposite, and just greets them. “Would you mind taking a picture with us?” She asks, and Louis is reminded of the fact that he is going out with an internationally famous star, not his silly best friend from high school.

“Sure.” He replies, and Louis offers to take it so both girls will appear in the photo. Once it is done, they do not leave right away as the girl checks the picture out.

          “Is this your boyfriend?” The fan who has been silent and certainly looking more on edge asks.

          “Melanie!” Her friend scolds her, widening her eyes comically. Harry’s eyes mimic hers, and he stutters a ‘ _ no _ ’.

“What? I’d be happy if he was. Nick is an ass.”

         “Okay, we have to go. Thank you!” The other girl drags her away, looking scandalized. None of the boys look at each other after that, both with a light tint of red on their cheeks, as they walk towards the entrance to the room. 

The play is fun and emotional in the right places, the voices of the singers are astounding and Louis finds himself having a great time, occasionally sharing comments with Harry. Half an hour after, Harry leaves and comes back with drinks and snacks for both of them, and the blue-eyed boy is reminded of how much this resembles a date, but he puts the thought aside and continues watching as the climax of the play approaches.

At some point, there is a particularly funny moment in the play and the audience erupts in laughter. By mere coincidence, Harry turns to his side and his breath catches in his throat as he looks at Louis, whose eyes have disappeared behind baggy eyelids, his mouth is being covered by the back of his hand and he laughs with so much pure joy that Harry cannot help but feel entranced, his chest feels bloated in a positive way. Sooner than he would have liked, the laughter dies out and he unwillingly returns his gaze towards the stage.       

“You should do one of those contests.” Louis comments as they go out of the venue and walk towards the parking lot, regarding the kissing contest the protagonist of the play holds. “Bet thousands of people would sign up.”

“Hush, I’m not that loved.”

“Please, Harry, you were number one on People’s list of _World’s Most Desirable Men of 2015_.” The singer’s cheeks flush a bit and Louis realizes that he finds it quite endearing, which may be the reason as to why he keeps teasing him. But then the boy’s face changes with something similar to realization, and he adopts a mischievous look.

“Oh, so you’ve been keeping up with me, eh?” He sounds almost arrogant as he says it, smirking lopsidedly-which Louis admittedly finds incredibly hot-and it is now his turn to blush. He struggles to find a witty response to come back with, but Harry is already inside the car, the smile not disappearing from his facial features.

The fucker.

           “So, are you getting in or not?” Only then he realizes he has been standing there, looking lost. So he gets inside the car, fastening his belt and glaring at the ridiculously handsome man-who is still smirking.

           “For your information.” He starts, fully aware that he cannot save his case, but he won’t not have the last word. “I am subscribed to  _ People’ _ s newsletter, I receive their articles in my email.”

          “Sure, sure.” Louis could hit him. Seriously, where did the innocent little boy he used to know go?

          “Do you wanna go have something to eat? I’m starving.” Harry questions a few minutes into the ride, and Louis turns his gaze away from the street. He thinks about it for a second, and he accepts, liking the idea of eating something other than sandwiches and cereal.

“But nothing too fancy, please."

        Turns out, nothing too fancy for Harry is still too fancy for Louis. They stop at an Italian restaurant called  _ Villas Romanas _ , which is a quaint, rather private restaurant with brick walls and a cozy atmosphere, wooden chairs and warm colors. It gives off a homey air. Louis likes it immediately.

          There are not many people inside, only a family of three eating pasta with colorful, pinkish drinks and a guy sitting in the corner by his own,  a camera hanging from his neck, looking at the menu with concentration.

         They themselves sit across from each other, and choose two different types of pasta for dinner. Louis finds it funny how these dishes cost almost as much as a he earns in two days, yet the quantity would not fill him even if he ate three courses. Rich people are strange.

However, the pasta is delicious, and he almost moans as he has the first bite.

“Don’t tell Zayn, but this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Your secret's safe with me, don’t worry.” He promises, simulating zipping up his lips. Louis chuckles, finding his goofy behavior quite cute.

“So, how’s life been here since… well, since I left?” Harry inquires after minutes of silence, trying to make conversation, not really realizing that it could be a touchy topic for the boy in front of him. Louis clears his throat, and there is a question lingering at the tip of his tongue, one that he has been dying to ask him since the second he stepped out of his life into one of spotlight and fame.

“Well, it’s not as fun as traveling in private jets across the world but it has been good.” He answers, sincerely, he thinks about his answer for a minute. “The lads and I have a lot of fun together, and I like my major, even though I hate my job. I get by.” He shrugs, and Harry looks at him with all his attention focused on him only, his plate now empty, and he finds himself longing for that glint of fondness that he identifies in Louis’ eyes as he speaks about his friends. Private planes, these fancy restaurants, expensive sports cars do not fill the void he has inside, that void that he so desperately wants to fill with a real, meaningful bond with another human being.

“May I ask you something?” Louis voices, suddenly looking very unsure of himself with his nail between his teeth and his gaze focused on his glass of soda.

          “Sure.”

          “Why…” He starts, but cuts himself off as he tries to find the words to articulate his question. He looks up then, sighing. “Why did you completely cut me out of your life?” He asks, finally. Harry is taken aback for a moment, but he has somehow always known that this was a matter he had to explain at some point. Some debt he owes and he can not leave this life without paying it off.    

        And Louis does not sound accusatory, but confused and hurt. Which makes it all the more awful; he can live with knowing he has made him angry, mad. But knowing he has hurt him is the worst emotion he has experienced. He feels somewhat sick as he ponders, as he tries to travel four years back and analyze what was going through his mind when the missed calls from the number he had bookmarked as his favorite stopped being important enough for him to answer, and when the pile of messages became unworthy of being replied to.

           “I don’t really have a valid reason,” he says, Louis looks at him with a fierce stare, no traces of the insecure boy that was in his place minutes ago, Harry swallows. “I am sorry for what I did, though.”

           “I don’t want an apology, Harry. I want an explanation.” He says, trying to sound earnest and not harsh, but the questioned boy flinches either way.

           “I guess I became too involved in the hurry-up-and-wait of this lifestyle that everything else became secondary, including the most important people in my life.” He admits, shamefully. “I was in one place in the morning and in another city at night, either working on a song or rehearsing for a show or answering questions for an interview, my bosses control every aspect of my schedule, even when I have weeks off I have to do some sort of publicity, be it for a brand I wear or a coffee chain I visit in the morning. Among all of that, it became impossible for me to maintain any real relationship with anyone, let along with people who live far away from me. Including you.” He sighs and he sits back on the chair, suddenly feeling very weary of his confession, Louis is still looking at him with intensity, and he feels like a culprit in front of his prosecutors. “It’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth, and I am sorry.”

           Louis seems to think about it for a second, observing his friend’s face, maybe looking for any sign of insincerity. Apparently, he does not find it, because he sighs and nods.

          “I was hurt when you left.” He admits, eyes downcast. “I liked you, and I thought we could rule the world together or some stupid shit like that. But you made me feel like I was not worth staying for.”

           “That was not-”

           “But okay, I accept your apology.”

-

           The night for them ends at one and a half in the morning, with Harry pulling up in front of Louis’ dorm. There are some students gathered outside even though it is fairly cold, they are talking loudly and sharing a joint, their overjoyed cackles of laughter could possibly be heard from miles away. Harry gets out of the car, which surprises Louis a bit, not expecting him to bother. He refuses to acknowledge the butterflies tickling the insides of his tummy.

           “I had a great time tonight.” Harry says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He looks like he wants to say something else as he mouth-fishes for the right words for a moment, but then he shakes his head discreetly, and awkwardly extends his hand for the boy to shake. Louis stares at it for a second, rolling his eyes in an affectionate manner before breaking into a smile and hugging him.

           “Me too, I’m glad we talked things through.” He says, feeling genuinely at peace with himself. Then, he turns towards the staircase that leads to the entrance to his building, climbs the steps up.

           Harry stays there, staring at the back of his friend as he struggles to open the door that seems to be in a decaying state, and then disappears. He pulls out his phone from the pocket of his jeans and opens his gallery. The first picture to appear is one that he has sneakily taken of the other boy while he was looking out the window in the car. His face cannot really be seen, so he takes that to his advantage and posts it on his Instagram account. He adds a black and white filter, so it ends up looking very pretty and it fits his aesthetic. He thinks about a caption for a while, one that is not too straightforward but one that will be as meaningful as tonight has been for him.   

-

          The next day comes, and it being a Saturday, Louis has the evening shift. He wakes up at eleven, grimacing when he realizes he has slept until almost noon. Turning around to face the other bed, he is surprised to see that Zayn has already woken up even though he does not have anything to do for the day. He yawns, and lazily drags himself to the bathroom to follow his morning routine, which consists of brushing his teeth, washing his face, and checking his social media while sitting on the toilet.

          He has a message from Sam. And God, he has just woken up, he does not have the energy to feel miserable at the moment. Plus, the joy that he has found because of the night before has not dissipated yet, and he does not want to ruin that, so he decides to not open the text. Once he is done, he goes to their living room, calling for Zayn and ordering him to give him a bowl of Cheerios, but there is no response.

           “Ugh.” He huffs dramatically and starts going through the cupboards. He is scandalized to realize that his awful flatmate has eaten the last bit of Cheerios they had left. Slightly pissed off, he throws on his pair of Chucks, grabs his wallet and leaves for the minimarket that is located around the corner.

           As he walks the distance to the store, he makes sure to send a few middle-finger emojis to his best friend. Going there, choosing his cereal, some sweets because he is self-indulgent like that, and paying for his goods takes a bit over forty minutes. And while he is waiting in line for his products to be rung up, he decides to finally check the message Sam has sent him, before his phone burns a hole through his jean pocket.

_ ‘so that is who ur seeing now eh? v convenient’ _

           He frowns, confused. Who is he talking about? He has no idea at all. He has not hinted seeing anyone in specific, and he has not posted any cryptic Facebook status for him to grab an idea about some random bloke being his new boyfriend or something. The cashier hands him his items and he leaves, lost deep in thought all the way home.

           First, to whom is the man referring? There is a split of a moment that he thinks he might mean Harry, since he has gone out with him the night before, but there is no one who could have possibly told him about it. Zayn and Eleanor are the only ones who know about their outing, but Eleanor has blocked Sam from every social media network she has and Zayn hates Sam’s guts. So he shrugs off that possibility.

           Secondly, Sam is confusing him. He is dating another man, whom he seems very happy with, yet he keeps pestering Louis about him possibly dating someone else. As if he has not been the one to break up with him in the first place, even when Louis begged repeatedly for him to stay.

_ ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’   _ he replies in a rush of annoyance. He walks into his building and he cannot help but feel slightly uncomfortable when he sees a group of people staring at him. Maybe he is only being paranoid; however, he quickly checks himself out to make sure he does not have any sort of embarrassing sign stuck to his clothes. He walks faster towards the stairs and makes it to the third floor where his flat is located, and in the hallway, there is a pair of girls talking, and they all stop immediately, one of them pointing at him and whispering something to the other.

           He ignores it, though, and quickly makes it to his shoebox home. Once inside, he sees Zayn sat on the couch with a giant book on his lap.

           “Hi, asshole.” He greets him, and then continues to speak. “Do you know why everyone is looking at me like I’ve grown a second head?” Well, now he is being dramatic, he knows. It was not exactly everyone, but about seven people. Still.

           “Sorry, babes, no idea.” Zayn answers, not taking his eyes off the book. Louis whines and goes to the fridge to grab some milk for his cereal, then sits by his friend’s side to eat.

           Zayn is engrossed in his reading when suddenly, he hears a string of swears coming from his left. He turns around to see Louis’ panicked expression staring at his phone’s screen, spoon still in his mouth.

           “Fuck, fuck, no, fuck.” He repeats once and again. Curious, Zayn takes the phone from him, and the boy puts his now free hands on his face, whining loudly.

_ “Could This Uni Student Be Harry Styles’ New Boyfriend?” _ reads the headline of an article from  _ The Sun _ , with pictures of Harry and Louis from what Zayn assumes was the night before attached to it.

           “My life is over.” He says, dramatically. Zayn ignores it and continues reading the article, which contains details of everything they have supposedly done last night; from the play to the dinner they had. There is a picture captioned as  _ lovebirds getting cozy _ , which makes Zayn grimace, where the two boys are sitting in front of each other inside the restaurant, with Louis reaching out to pull at a strand of Harry’s hair. Zayn has a vague memory of Louis doing that a lot when they were teens, he always had a fascination for Harry’s hair.

           “Wait until his fans find out your name.” Zayn says as he hands him his phone back. He groans, really close to going into panic mode.

-

          Evening comes, and he is stuck behind the counter at the diner. A massive group of people have just left the restaurant, and he is tired. Both mentally and physically. Every time the bell above the door jingles, he becomes paranoid that it is going to be a deranged fan trying to murder him, or something. Okay, he is being dramatic again, but he remembers reading about something similar happening to a Korean boybander and he shivers.

          He has also spent the last ten hours checking every gossip site and what people are saying on Twitter. So many people are talking about him and have given him a plethora of nicknames, such as  _ Mystery Boy, Uni Boyfriend, Harry’s Darling, _ and some even say he is dating Harry as a cover up for Nicholas and him, which does not make sense at all. Some fanatics are actually happy, and are complimenting him. He has the urge to retweet someone saying he is way better looking than Grimshaw, but that would blow his cover, and he wants to avoid that at all costs. The last thing he needs is thousands of people flooding his social media.

           After handing a couple of girls their milkshakes, he cannot help but open Twitter again and search the word  _ Harry _ . He stumbles upon someone talking about ‘the boy in Harry’s post’. His heart rate picks up as he clicks the link to said post. And there he finds a picture of himself that the singer has taken without him knowing. He cannot believe he has been so careless, so stupid, so. He whines, loudly.

          This is it, his boring, average, tranquil life is over. He might as well pack his bag and book the first flight to Fiji or somewhere just as far, far from here.

           And then he reads the caption, and his mouth hangs open for a bit. He reads it once and twice. And, he is torn between letting the tiny flutters of moths flying inside his stomach win, or being mad at Harry.

_ ‘sweet creature’ _

           Twenty minutes later, when he is debating whether to murder Harry or to melt because of his stupid Instagram post, the boy in question steps into the diner, the bell announcing his presence. He is wearing a beanie, sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie with sunglasses at 9PM. If he was trying to pull off some sort of disguise, everything he has achieved is looking even more suspicious. He also looks ridiculous, Louis bites his bottom lip as a smile threatens to spread on his face. He cannot even be angry anymore, not at someone who looks like a teen trying to pass for an adult in order to buy alcohol.

           “Hi.” Harry says once he reaches the counter, offering a tiny smile. He seems embarrassed, almost guilty, maybe. “I guess you might have seen the articles already?” He states, the sentence sounding like a mix of a question and a statement.

           “Everyone, including my whole dorm, is talking about me, what do you think?”

           “God, I’m so sorry.” Louis’ face softens even more, Harry does look genuinely apologetic either way, so there is no point in being mad. He swears he is gaining good karma points fast. What he should focus on now is how to fix this mess.

          “It’s not your fault.” Louis goes to the back in order to bring Harry his usual order, and also to have a second to breathe. He has never been directly linked to Harry publicly in any way, save for some people who found pictures of them online and messaged him asking for inside information about the guy. But that has been long ago, when the pop star was barely starting in The X Factor. But  _ this _ , this is big. It could potentially ruin many aspects of his personal life.

           Or maybe he could use it to his benefit; he thinks as he steps out of the kitchen and he stops in his tracks as he sees two men sitting in one of the booths.

           One of them, he recognizes for having seen him multiple times on his Facebook feed during the past twenty four hours. The other, well, the other is Sam. And they are kissing. Louis knows he is doing this on purpose, there is no other reason he would come to this diner than to show off his new partner and hurt Louis. He curses the day Sam memorized each of his shifts.

           He puts Harry’s order on the countertop, doing everything in his power to avoid glancing in the couple’s direction. He engages in a trivial conversation with Harry, sometimes getting distracted by the loud laughter coming from the booth occupied by his ex.

           Harry seems to pick up on the weird change in his behavior.

“Are you okay, Lou?” He frowns, the petname slips up his tongue so easily and naturally that he does not even realize he has done it.

“Yeah, yeah, just-” his voice wavers a bit as he sees Sam coming over to their direction, he panics, and looks at Harry with pleading eyes, “please, just play along for a moment, yeah?”

“What do you mean?” The boy has no time to explain what he has meant by such an ambiguous request, because soon they are being joined by a tall, muscular man who looks way too cocky for Harry’s liking. It does not sit well with him that the new presence makes Louis look nervous.

“Hello, Louis, how’s it been?” Sam asks with a smirk, and Louis feels so, so small under his gaze. It is the first time they’ve interact face-to-face after the breakup and the man looks so unaffected, as if instead of weeks, it has been years since they have parted ways. It breaks Louis’ self-esteem even more.

“All good, will you order something?” He says flatly, refusing to look vulnerable in front of him anymore. At least, as much as he possibly can.

“Oh!” Sam exclaims, turning around to look at Harry like he has just noticed his presence. “This must be your new boyfriend, the famous singer.”

“Actually-” Harry goes to say but Louis cuts him off.

“Yes, is that a  problem?” Harry turns to him so fast Louis is sure it almost gives him a whiplash, but he does not say anything to deny it, quickly catching on on the boy’s request from moments ago.

“Oh, no, not at all.” He puts on a faux face of offense. “Just surprised, ‘s all.”

That is the most humiliating part of all, Sam knowing how gone he was for him, how lost he still feels without him sometimes. Sam knowing that he still has so much power over him, that he is surprised to see that Louis could have possibly moved on. And yet, he does not understand why he won’t leave him alone, it is not like Louis had been the one to end things. He is quiet for a second, not knowing what the hell he should reply to that, so Harry’s protective instincts kick on, and he takes Louis’ hand in his.

“Mate, we were in the middle of a private conversation, if you’re done, we would appreciate you leaving us alone.” Harry says, so serious and so determined that Louis is slightly surprised. He could swoon, but he remembers that he is only playing along. Sam looks annoyed, but he scoffs and leaves anyway, walking out of the diner just minutes after.

Louis’ hands shake a bit after he watches the pair disappear behind the red doors, and when he feels them being gripped by the man in front of him, he cannot help but let out a tiny sob.

“What was that, Lou?” Harry inquires, as tactile as he can possibly be in such a confusing situation.

“That’s my ex, we broke up less than three weeks ago and he’s already fucking someone else while I am stuck feeling worthless and replaced.” He says, angry, wiping tears from his eyes furiously. Perrie, having witnessed everything that has just taken place, changes the sign on the outer part of the door from _open_ to _closed_ , bless her. “I didn’t want him to see how affected I still am.” He explains, a little embarrassed.

“It’s okay, Lou.”

“He was the one who sent me the article I saw first, I don’t understand why he keeps contacting me, every time I think I might finally move on.”

“He sounds like a controlling asshole.”

“He didn’t use to be like that.”

        “Well, you never truly know anyone.” Louis nods halfheartedly, looking down with his fringe covering half his face. Teardrops fall on the surface of the counter, making the red color a shade darker where the salty water collects. 

Harry pulls up at his building later, having offered him a ride so he would not have to use public transport in that emotional state, but Louis does not get off right away.

“Harry, I-” He says, looking at him with an apologetic expression, “I’m sorry for making you do that.” The younger lad’s face softens, and he leans across the reduced space between them towards the smaller one, spreading his arms and pulling him onto his own body. Louis’ breath hitches, but he melts into the hug as Harry puts his chin on the top of his head.

“I was the one who got you into this in the first place, nothing to apologize for.” He says, sealing his statement with a small kiss on his messy, chestnut hair. Louis barely feels it, but he blushes either way.

The room goes silent as he finishes hearing what Harry is proposing to him. He has a magazine in his hand, with a spread that has a highly disgusting description of the singer, talking about how he cannot commit to people and insinuating that Louis is nothing but a fling. Okay, that is highly dehumanizing but it does not bother Louis that much, he knows how tabloids are. Harry continues talking as he stares at him, open-mouthed.

“I’m only telling you in order to get my management off my back, I don’t want to drag you further into this mess.” He finishes, already starting to type out a response to Jeff. Louis bites the tip of his nail, actually considering the proposal. He can feel Zayn sending daggers in his direction from the other side of the room, and he should not ignore that but...

“Okay, I accept.” He says, making Zayn sigh deeply whilst shaking his head. Harry looks up, wide-eyed, fingers hovering above the unfinished text message he has just been typing.

“Louis, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Zayn speaks, sitting down next to Louis on their couch. He has always been Louis’ voice of reason.

“I don’t see how it could be a bad idea, Harry can get his image cleaned, and it will, hopefully, make Sam mad.” He shrugs, sitting back on the cushion, looking less on edge than he has been when Harry dropped the bombshell not long ago.

“Bro, you have to be mature about it all.” Zayn tries to reason but he ignores him, even though deep down he knows he might be right.

“What are we supposed to do, then?”

“Are you sure?” Harry interjects.

“Yes, Harry, I am sure. I’ll do it.” Zayn groans, standing up again and going into the room. Louis understands that the boy has always been a bit too overprotective of him, but he can make decisions for himself. Besides, he is exaggerating, it is just fake-dating. Only a couple outings here and there, some cute internet posts that people can gush over and possibly public appearances to shows in order to make the general public believe Harry has plans to keep a serious relationship. His manager has actually thanked his lucky stars for the article from _The Sun_ because there’s nothing better to push that kind of narrative than a non-famous partner. There won’t be any feelings involved, so there isn’t much to be worried about.

Or so he tells himself. There is worry and nerves clogging his throat, but he wants Sam to see him, and understand that he can, in fact, lead a life without him. Part of him secretly hopes this might make him want to come back. Not because he wants to be with him again, but because he wants to savour the satisfaction of rejecting him.

“Okay, first thing we should do is feed the rumors that we are in fact ‘in a relationship’.” He does air quotes with his fingers as he says it, and Louis chuckles fondly at that. “Jeff has texted me saying I can post a picture of us now. He wants to make it look organic.” Louis nods, as Harry takes his phone and opens his Instagram account, pressing the camera icon. He goes to sit by Louis’ side, and they smile at the camera, Louis pulling a peace sign. Once the shutter goes off, they study the result and grimace. They look rigid, and their legs barely touching; there is nothing that can hint at them being anything other than mates.

          “We look awkward.” Louis states in a whiny voice, already thinking about backing out because no one will believe their lie and he is going to be the joke of the year. He knows Sam quite enjoys comedy. They take five more pictures, never really liking any of them, they look too staged-which, they are, but details, details.

          “Seriously, how did we date?” Louis moans, and he widens his eyes as he realizes what he has said. They have never addressed it directly, and he does not even know if Harry considered whatever they had dating. The air between them turns tense for a while, and he is ready to book that one-way ticket to Fiji tonight.

           But he does not have much time to be mortified about his slip-up once the memory of a photo they took when he was sixteen and Harry fifteen comes back to him. It was innocent enough and it always made everyone let out embarrassing, tiny squeals as they entered Louis’ living room and spotted it, framed and proudly displayed among other photographs of his family.

           “Okay, c’mere.” He beckons Harry to get closer to him, and the boy obeys. Louis leans closer, and puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Harry’s breath hitches as he feels Louis’ face close, very close to his own, until his long eyelashes are brushing against the top of his cheekbones. Needless to say, he is paralyzed for a couple seconds, the proximity making his heart race inside his chest as if it wanted to escape its rightful place. “Take the picture, Harold.”

_ Oh _ , right.

           He smiles up at the  phone as he opens the front-camera, finally being able to breathe once Louis pulls away again. They look at the resulting picture and Louis beams triumphantly; they have finally taken the perfect one. Harry feels dumbfounded as he stares at it, the boy by his side has his eyes closed and the purest smile he has seen in the world. They look so good together, like they were meant to be this close since the very moment the Big Bang took place and the universe started to form.

           “Post this one, it’s perfect!” Louis exclaims, happy that his idea has worked. Harry adds a filter-Louis calls him a hipster for it-and thinks of a caption for a while, until the perfect one comes to his mind.

_ what  a feeling to be a king beside you. _

           Louis reads it, and even though he knows it is fake, it is only a trick to fool the entire world, he blushes, a deep shade of red that spreads from the tip of his nose to his ears. Harry finally publishes it, and this is  _ it _ .

-

           It has been three days since Harry posted the picture of the two. He is not sure yet if he has made a good decision-Zayn and Liam say he has not, Sophia is neutral, Eleanor and Niall say there is nothing to worry about, so now he only has two friends and three acquaintances. Even though it has been a little overwhelming, between signing confidentiality contracts and seeing himself in magazine websites and on thousands of microblog posts, (Eleanor has even excitedly called him to tell him she has seen him on TV) not everything has been bad. Harry is not famous in his own hometown, maybe because it is a Northerner town in which bands like Oasis and Arctic Monkeys are the main thing the youth listens to or maybe because most of his success has been in America, he does not know, but he is glad.

          So things have been relatively calm if he ignores the frenzy outside this little bubble. Of course, some people have approached him to ask for a  _ selfie _ , which he has found a little bizarre, and he has politely declined, telling them he does not feel comfortable with that. No one has been rude about it so far. Other people have tried to bribe him into giving them details about Harry’s personal life and one of his classmates has gone as far as asking him to give him two tickets for one of his shows in London next year.

           It is Tuesday, and they are going to have their first official public sighting, so Jeff has called a paparazzi to photograph them on a date. It is funny to him to realize how things behind the celebrity world work, but he is gonna be given a check at the end so he doesn’t complain.

           Currently, they are in the car, Louis nervously looking at Harry while fidgeting with his fingers. They are being driven to a restaurant where they are going to have lunch, and then go for a walk while holding hands.

          “I’m nervous.” Louis admits, which makes Harry look back at him. The boy smiles softly, bumping his shoulder with his closed fist in a playful manner.

           “It’s okay, Lou.” Harry tells him. “We won’t be doing anything out of the ordinary, you can ignore the camera and act like we’re just hanging out as mates.” Louis nods, but he still seems to be in deep thought. The driver takes a turn and Louis knows they are almost there, recognizing the streets they see outside the window. His hands feel clammy and his heart is racing once again.

“Have you done this before?”

“Have I done what before?”

       “This, fake dating someone.” Harry seems to ponder about the question, then he gets close to the boy to whisper something in his ear. 

“Remember that you’ve signed a confidentiality contract.” He whispers, taking a glance in Jeff’s direction to make sure he does not hear what he is going to say. Jeff is on the phone with who Harry assumes is Irving. “Yeah, a lot. Most of the time I’ve dated someone is for publicity.” He confesses, index finger lifted in air quotes as he voices the word _‘date’_.

“What about Nick?” Louis asks without thinking his words through. Then, he apologizes profusely afterwards, but Harry laughs it off, assuring him that it is okay.

“Nah, what I had with him was real.” He admits, smiling, maybe a little sadly. “But we weren’t into it anymore by the end of our relationship.”

          “I’m sorry for what he did to you, that was awful.” Harry shrugs, not giving it that much importance anymore. Then the car stops in front of a hole-in-the-wall café with tables and chairs outside. Louis has passed by it sometimes, but has never actually came in. Inside, it is lovely and he feels at ease right away, the walls are painted in a combination of white and pastel purple, chalkboards with the pastries and beverage they sell on the wall behind the counter. It is bright and lively, with plants decorating the whole room-which may be the charm behind its name,  _ Lily of the Nile _ . Even on top of the tables, there are pots with flowers. Needless to say, the café also smells wonderful.

          They sit by the window, where they can be easily photographed through the glass, and a waitress comes to take their order right away, wishing them a good morning as she announces her name.

“Is this how your life is all the time?” Louis asks once the girl has left, pointing at the camera across the street.

           “Yeah, pretty much.” The singer answers, shrugging it off again. “‘S why I came here.”

           “What do you mean?” Louis frowns, confused. He watches as Harry tenses slightly, and leans his weight on the back of the chair. He bites his lower lip as he thinks of the right words to say without it sounding like a pity party.

           “I didn’t-- I felt like I was suffocating. Between all the fuss and comings and goings, I became exhausted. I had Nick before, so even if it was tiring, I had someone who made me feel human.” He sees Louis is still sporting a confused expression, so he tries to explain himself better. “No one really enjoys my company all that much, they just want to be seen with me for publicity purposes. There is no substance to any relationship I’ve developed with anyone ever since I left this place. Finding myself in the eye of the hurricane all alone was my breaking point.” Unconsciously, Louis reaches out for his hand, gripping it tightly. He does not realize that the cameraman outside takes the opportunity to snap several shots of the scene. “I guess I just needed to take a breath.”

           Right then, the waitress comes back with their order, a Tres Leches cake for Louis and a carrot cake for Harry, with coffee for the both of them. Harry composes himself then, smiling slightly when a thought comes to his mind.

           “What are you smiling about?” Louis asks mid-bite, with a small bit of cream sticking to the tip of his nose.

           “I’ve just realized that I’m really glad to be back here.” He answers, sincerely. The other beams at that, humming in agreement as he swallows the piece of cake.

           “I’m glad you’re back, too.” He admits, blushing and continuing munching on his pastry.

           After paying for their order, and after Louis makes Harry leave a good tip-he knows how hard it is to work in a food establishment-they leave. They stand outside the coffee shop awkwardly for a couple of minutes, neither of them knowing how to initiate the hand-holding they are supposed to do now.

           “So…” Harry starts, dragging his voice a bit. He offers his hand to the lad by his side, and the other takes it, albeit a little shyly. Louis’ hand is much smaller than the other’s, and it should not make Louis’ face adopt a light shade of pink, but it does. He is led by the younger boy as they walk down the street and his tummy does somersaults, not being able to tear his eyes away from their hands. At one point, the boy walking in front of him stops abruptly, and he bumps into him because he has not been watching where he is going.

           “Oh, sorry!” Harry quickly apologizes. “I just forgot to do something!” Then, he puts his hand in the pocket of the hoodie he is wearing and pulls out a tiny lily. He reaches towards his friend’s hair and entangles the little flower among the strands on the left side of his head. “There! You look so pretty now.” If his face was a light pink before, now it is a deep red. He looks down at his Vans, looking for the right words to say, something witty to disguise how affected he is by the boy’s compliment.

           “Do you mean I didn’t look pretty before, Styles?” He shakes his head, trying to cause some banter so he can gain the upperhand.

           “You always look pretty, Lou.” The singer comments, taking his hand again and tugging him so they can continue walking.

           At the end of the day, Harry drops Louis at his dorm again, and he realizes he has had fun. Even if it all has been staged, it has felt genuine, organic almost. He does not say that out loud, though, worrying that they might not be on the same page regarding that aspect. It is not necessary, though, because it is Harry who voices it before Louis gets off the car.

           “I had a great time despite the circumstances, Lou.         Thank you.” He only nods, and pecks Harry’s cheek quickly, getting out the car immediately so he does not have to see his reaction. He runs up the staircase leading to the door of the building and hurries to his flat. Once he is inside, he lets himself break into a huge smile that almost splits his face in two. He does not know why, but he feels content.

-

          On the day the pap pictures are released, he ignores social media as much as he can while he is at work, turning off his phone so none of his friends ask any questions. By the time his shift has ended and he is closing the door to his home, he has only checked Twitter once. He has two thousand follow requests; he might scream. He has no idea how people have found his account, as they don’t even know his name yet.

           “Hi, Zayn, I’ve brought pizza!” He announces happily, plopping down on the couch next to his best mate and putting the box on his lap. The boy only hums in agreement, mumbling  _ thank you _ when Louis hands him a slice of pizza. He is mad about something, Louis knows him all too well to be able to tell how he acts when he feels a certain way or another. Now, he is pissed off. He is quiet, refuses to look at anything but the TV and Louis wonders why.

           “What’s wrong, Zee?” He asks, putting his head on his shoulder affectionately to avoid making Zayn angrier with his questions. He is a manipulative little shit, he knows.

           “Have you seen Sam?” He asks, frowning so hard Louis has the urge to reach out and smooth the wrinkles that form above his eyebrows with the tip of his fingers. He shakes his head. “Well, first, I hope you remember I told you this was a bad idea. And second, I won’t back down on anything of what I said.”

           “What do you mean?” He frowns, the ambiguity of Zayn’s statement not clearing up any of his doubts.  Zayn rolls his eyes and takes his laptop from the floor, messes around a bit and shows it to Louis. What he sees is a post on Sam’s profile, a link to the paparazzi pictures, along with a highly belittling caption that implies he is fucking the singer for money and fame. His friend has left a string of insults on the comment section, telling him to mind his own business. Sam’s insinuations should probably upset him, but he cannot help but feel a little smug because seems to be very affected to see Louis with another man, let alone a rich, successful man.

           “He’s obsessed with you, I’m going to break his fucking jaw.” Zayn exclaims with a mouth full of pizza, and Louis chuckles, leaning his head on his friend’s shoulder.

           “You love me, eh?” He teases, poking his cheek with the tip of his index finger.

           “Don’t think so high of yourself there, twat.” Zayn huffs, but Louis only pokes him harder, until the boy lets his angry features drop and smiles.

Certainly, it is slightly humiliating to have your ex spread false accusations about your love life in social media for all your mutual acquaintances to see, but knowing how much of a low blow for Sam it must be to not have full control of every aspect about his life anymore seems a lot more satisfactory. It feels something akin to revenge, and it is, indeed, sweet.

-

          He does not really know how he has ended up in London, with only a messily done suitcase in hand and a backpack. He has not had much given it much thought, though, after Harry has invited him because his management scheduled an interview for the next day.

          When he arrives, someone from Harry’s team is already there to pick him up from the terminal. He has seen the man, whose name is Preston, only once before; he is burly and intimidating, could break each of Louis’ bones with a flick of his finger, probably. The man is there to take him to a BBC studio where Harry is having the interview.

          He is nervous. Today, their relationship is going to be confirmed on national television. It is also the first time his actual name is going to be revealed, and while it will be nice not being referred to just as Harry’s boyfriend and other variations of it, having his name revealed to the entire world will most likely affect his daily life in countless ways. Be it for good or bad.

           They arrive at their destination minutes later, and they pass by a considerable amount of fans who shout questions at him as they walk in through a backdoor.

           Inside the BBC headquarters, he is led by Preston to where Harry is supposed to be, staring wide-eyed at the behind-the-scene buzz. There are people rushing in and out black doors, muscular men carrying what seem to be parts of the scenography for all types of shows, security people looking at him up and down in every corner; it all seems very overwhelming and a lot less glamorous than what is shown on the screen.

          Once they are in front of a door that reads Studio C, they come in and a mess of hurrying personnel, cables and lights greet him. Preston, who is probably more than used to it by now, leads him towards where Harry is sitting with a dark-haired girl putting on powder on his face. He approaches the boy, who smiles widely once he spots him.

“So, superstar, this is your natural habitat.” Louis teases, taking a chair next to the singer, who looks perfectly polished in a wine red suit. Harry chuckles, shaking his head fondly because he knows there is no malice in Louis’ comment.      

“Welcome, then.” Harry introduces the girl to him, her name is Sylvia. She is Harry’s stylist, and has a plethora of tattoos adorning her body-including three stars on the side of her face-and a kind demeanor. Louis thinks he likes her better than big, scary Preston. She leaves once she is done with Harry’s hair and makeup.

“I’m nervous about this blowing up on my face.” Louis admits, voice low, eyes wandering around the studio and feeling overwhelmed by all the movement around him. Harry cannot promise it will not be; he himself has had to face the downsides of stardom one too many times, but he wants to offer some sort of comfort to the boy, who seems to be getting second thoughts.

“It’ll all be alright.” He says in the end, there is nothing more he can offer. “Promise.” And he raises his fisted hand, with only his pinky finger sticking out. A wide smiles spreads on the other man’s face, and he is quick to intertwine his own pinky finger with Harry’s. Right in that moment, someone from the BBC staff calls Harry, telling him to take his spot on the stage. “Gotta go.” He tells Louis, bringing their interlocked fingers to place a small kiss on them, and then he runs up towards the sofa where he is going to be interviewed.

Louis sits back, watching him being asked about when he is planning to get back on his promotion tour around America and when he is releasing another single. He answers effortlessly, somehow not giving away many details but making it seem like he has offered a lot of information. There is no trace of the awkward kid Louis has the chance to see most of the time; it is somewhat amusing and fascinating.

          After finishing his answer about any collaborations he would like to do in the future, the host, a charismatic lady of about fifty years old, changes the topic.

“So, we’ve seen you quite happy with a boy lately.” She says as a warmup for the next question, which is undoubtedly about Louis. Louis’ heart starts beating faster, he feels like he has swallowed an entire apple and it has gotten stuck in his throat. “Is he your boyfriend?” A blush appears on Harry’s face as he nods, a grin so bright it could light up a galaxy.

           “Oh, that’s good to know, Harry!” She exclaims, the  _ ‘we are glad you are over your cheating partner’  _ implicit in her tone of voice. He thinks he has been over Nicholas since way long before their breakup. “What is his name, then?”

“Thank you.” He says, eyes bright. “His name’s Louis.”

          “I heard he’s come here to support you, eh?”

           “Yeah, he’s just about there.” He answers, pointing at the spot backstage where Louis is sitting with Sylvia by his side. He cannot help doing a tiny wave of his hand at his faux boyfriend.

           “Oh, and he’s very cute as well!” She points out after she spots the boy, waving at him.

           “Yeah, he’s gorgeous, I’d say.” The host cannot stop herself from  _ awwing  _ at his response, but she puts her hand on her mouth right away, making Harry’s smile grow impossibly bigger. There is so much fondness in Harry’s facial expression and it seems so, so genuine that Louis has a hard time reminding himself that none of what he is saying is true. He finds himself biting his lower lip, trying hard to keep his grin from splitting his face.

           “Wow, he truly likes you.” Sylvia, whose presence Louis has honestly not noticed until now, whispers low enough to keep people from eavesdropping but loud enough for Louis to hear. His heart does a double-take, wondering if she knows that they are not actually a thing. “I’ve never seen him like that.” She adds, the tiniest sigh at the end of her sentence, a motherly expression upon her features. Louis positively feels like there is a flock of doves revolting inside his stomach, throat and chest, fluttering their wings and making him feel fuzzy and lightheaded.

The girl does not say more, just claps her hands proudly once the interview is done, walking towards the boy and hugging him warmly.

“So proud of you, babes!” She exclaims, squeezing him impossibly tight.

“Thank you.” He says, and the cameras are already off, but he still sports a precious smile and rosy cheeks; Louis’ breath hitches. “Hi, Lou!” Said smile grows impossibly bigger when his eyes land on him, making his cheeks feel even more heated. Harry sits on the chair Sylvia has been previously occupying, taking Louis’ hand and he feels more nervous now than when he was twelve sneaking a secret love letter into his crush’s locker. “How did I do?”

“You did great, Haz.” Comes Louis’ honest answer, his tone of voice laced with a hint of fondness. He squeezes the hand holding his as if trying to convey such thought.

After almost an hour, Harry is allowed to go home, as he does not have anything else scheduled for the day-his break is still not over for four more days after all. He invites Louis to stay at his house so he won’t have to spend the next two days in a hotel room all by himself. They have a public outing the next day; thus, he cannot go back to Doncaster yet, so he accepts the invitation.

“Louis, I wanted to talk to you about, eh, something.” Harry breaks the silence inside the car as they wait for his driver. Louis tears his eye from the text message he has just been typing and focuses his attention on Harry, nodding to let him know he can go on.

“The, uh, next thing Jeff wants us to do is, uh…” He pauses, losing his confidence by the second; he does not know how Louis will respond. “...is kiss.” He finishes, and Louis lets out a low _oh_. “Publicly. At the American Music Awards afterparty. So it will be caught by photographers and other celebrities.” He clarifies, and waits for the other boy to offer his thoughts, or cuss him out. Whatever he found best.

“I, well, I figured we’d have to do it at some point.” He shrugs, leaning on the back on the seat, trying to look nonchalant but unable to look at Harry straight in the eyes. It is obvious he was bound to do something like that at some point, celebrity couples are photographed showing PDA on a daily basis, but that does not make him feel less nervous. It does not help that the idea of kissing him does not seem like something he would be against. On the other hand, it is not like it would be the first time they kissed, and maybe the fact that they have known each other for so long will help him feel more at ease eventually. “It’s okay, I guess.” Harry scowls at him, but he leaves it.

          The drive lasts a bit over half an hour until they arrive to a gated community in a high-end part of London. They drive past mansions that could probably shelter most of the city’s homeless people; Louis wonders how that’s fair. It is not, but he does not comment on it. He thinks he will sleep clutching a picture of Karl Marx for the rest of his life.

Harry’s house is nothing like Louis could ever think of. The only word that comes to his mind is _big,_ as he stares wide-eyed at the white doors while Harry puts in the passcode, and that is an understatement. He is sure it would not be hyperbolic to say it is as big as the whole floor of flats where he lives.

Inside, the place is perfectly organized and shiny, with art pieces decorating its walls and corners, some of them abstract, and some of them so intricate he cannot avoid staring for a while. It all looks as beautiful as it looks vacant; he cannot imagine ever feeling at home in a place like this.

          “I had Preston refill my cupboards yesterday. Do you want something to eat?” The younger boy asks and leads Louis further into the house, passing by expensive-looking furniture that he does not dare touch. If he were to break one, he would have to spend at least a year working double shifts to pay for it.

           The kitchen is impeccable, painted in gray and white, with an island in the center of it that is made of actual marble. Louis has respect for many things in life, but material things that cost more than he earns in a year are not included in that list, so he quickly makes himself at home by sitting on said marble island and throwing off his Vans to the side, his feet dangling in the air. Harry chuckles and shakes his head, amused. “I’m making chicken.” He announces after looking at the food in his fridge for a while. He takes out a chicken and some vegetables, putting the chicken under the faucet so it will defrost quickly.

           “You live here by yourself?” Louis questions, observing every detail around him. Harry wonders what he is thinking, but he nods, chopping up some of the veggies he has taken out.

           “Yeah, when I visit London, yes. I usually stay in Los Angeles,

          “Doesn’t it get lonely?” He voices cautiously, curious but not wanting to hit a nerve. Harry’s smile falters a bit, and he feels a pang of guilt in his gut.

           “Everything about this job does.” He shrugs, making it sound like he has just commented on the weather or something as trivial as that. Louis’ heart aches at such revelation, but he does not say more, just hums lowly to let him know that he has heard him.

           Once Harry puts the chicken, already seasoned, inside the oven, they head towards the movie room, which is a room with a projector, cushioned floor and pillows all over said floor. There is a popcorn cart in a corner and Louis has to bite his bottom lip to stop a squeal from leaving his mouth. He, however, throws himself onto the pillows, landing softly right next to a plushie of a Minion, which he clutches while looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow. He justifies himself by stating that it has been a gift given to him by a fan, but the blush on his face tells Louis otherwise.

           He puts a movie on- _ The Conjuring _ , because Louis has not watched it and has insisted they absolutely have to watch it-and sits next to Louis. It might not even be intentional, but Louis feels the boy get closer than it would be considered normal for two mates, taking the fact that there is a lot of space left for him to sit into account, the whole floor is cushioned after all. Louis realizes, though, that he does not mind the proximity, and instead, finds himself leaning into the boy’s touch as the movie progresses, only separating once when the younger lad has to go take out the chicken from the oven.

           Harry has watched the movie one too many times to be scared or even pay much attention to it anymore, but that does not seem to be the case for Louis, who has his face pressed on Harry’s shoulder, shielding his eyes from a particularly creepy scene playing in the screen. He thinks it is adorable, so he fights the urge to tease him and instead, wraps his arm around his frame. Louis melts into the touch,  and somewhere along the way they end up in a cuddling position, when Louis turns towards the screen, and lets his head rest on the space between Harry’s chin and collarbones.

The credits start to roll down in the screen but they do not move from their position, and instead, they continue a quiet conversation that had begun during the last minutes of the film. At some point, Harry ends up lying on his back, with a cushion pillowing his head and Louis now lying on his chest, no words being exchanged now as both boys fall deep in thought.

Louis, thinking about how warm and safe this feels, with almost every inch of their bodies touching and feeling the slow rise and fall of the other boy’s chest under his fingertips. Harry, thinking about how much he would like to kiss Louis right now.

“This is nice.” Louis whispers, not really disrupting the calmness that reigns in the room as the credits come to an end. Harry hears him, nonetheless, and he looks down to meet the boy’s blue eyes. He cannot see much of his face in the dimly lit room, but there is light reflecting on his eyelashes and on the zenith of his cheekbones. He looks delicate in a way that is almost ethereal, a beauty that is otherworldly. Yet, inside his eyes, there exists  the blue of the oceans and the greeny cerulean of the seven seas, an earthly touch to the masterpiece beneath his stare.

“You know…” Louis says lowly, getting up on his elbows. For a moment, Harry feels disappointed at the loss of contact and warmth, but then his face is only inches from his own. The air gets stuck in his throat when he notices that Louis’ stare switches from his eyes to his lips, and he might have imagined it the first time, but he does it again, and once again, and he is sure his mind is not playing cruel tricks on him. He wants to lean in and steal a kiss from him, but he is not sure how the other would take it, and he does not want to ruin any chance he might have. If he has any, that is. “If we want to make that whole kiss credible…” Louis continues, putting a hand on Harry’s chest to push himself upwards. Harry is paralyzed, expectantly staring at the boy and desperate to know what his next move will be. “...maybe, we should give it some practice.”

Harry takes a big gulp of air, and he has a hard time understanding what Louis is implying. He sounds so casual that he can barely grasp the idea that his friend is proposing they kiss. For _practice_ , of course, but a kiss nevertheless.

He does not have much time to think deeply about the cons and pros of going through with such idea, because soon it is Louis who presses their lips together softly. At first, it is just a light touch, barely perceptible, but then he cocks his head to the side and both mouths mold together.

They stay like that for several long seconds, neither of them too sure of what to do now. Unsure, Harry starts moving in a slow pace, blurring lines and wondering until where he is allowed to go. Louis’ eyelids fall closed so he takes that as a good sign, as a cue to continue. He places his hand on the curve of the boy’s waist, pulling him closer to his own body until their chests are touching, increasing their pace gradually.  

          Harry has forgotten how sweet the other’s lips taste, but Louis could have never forgotten how heavenly it is to melt under this boy’s touches. Harry has more experience now, and the once innocent, clumsy kisses have evolved into slow, deep ones, making him drop every reservation he has left.  

          After a while, their current position becomes uncomfortable and Harry’s neck starts to ache, so he places his hands on Louis’ hips and pulls him towards himself until he is straddling his hips, his elbows on Harry’s shoulder for leverage.

           Harry’s hands are not timid anymore, and he pushes his luck, slipping under the fabric of the boy’s hoodie to press his fingertips against his warm skin, raising goosebumps as he moves them in circular patterns. Things have escalated quite fast, but none of them seem to mind, under the excuse that this is for a good case. Pretending it is all for show.

           Louis’ hands tangle themselves in the long strands of silky, curly hair, soft gasps leaving his mouth as Harry’s lips are now occupied pecking his scruffy cheek, stopping to press harder on the taut skin of his jawline.

           “ _ Harry… _ ” He whines lowly, breathlessly, when Harry bites harshly onto the skin of his neck without a warning, his hands fisting at a handful of hair to keep himself from letting out embarrassing noises.  

           “This will make it more believable.” Harry justifies himself, before sucking on the same spot he has marked with his teeth, and he knows it is bullshit, but he cannot stop himself now; the salty flavor of the man’s skin too addictive. His voice is even raspier than it usually is, a few octaves lower, his hot breath hitting the sensitive skin below his lips.

           The low grumble against his neck goes straight to Louis’ groins, and his breath hitches as he throws his head back to give Harry more freedom to litter his neck with purple marks. Harry takes the hint right away, his bites become harsher as Louis’ whines become louder and louder. Borderline desperate little cries that make Harry want to savour more and more skin, crave for more touch.

           Louis adjusts his position above Harry and he hears him let out a loud gasp. Curiously, he rocks his own hips slightly, generating friction between his bum and the boy’s crotch and  _ oh _ .

           Harry is hard.

           He smirks, and forcefully brings Harry by his hair back into the kiss. As the kiss progresses into something more incessant, he starts rocking his hips back and forth, swallowing the grunts that escape Harry’s mouth.

           The hands that have been resting on his waist drop lower until they are gripping his arse, keeping him in place just above Harry’s crotch but guiding him in a steady back-and-forth movement in an effort to get himself off.

           As Harry gets closer and closer to his climax, their pace increases and their movements become erratic, the hands in his curls tightening rather harshly.  There is spit dripping down his jaw, being joined up by tiny beads of sweat.

           Harry’s body spasms slightly under Louis, and his grip on his arse tightens as he lets a choked out moan out, followed by a string of profanities. Louis smiles, dropping his head on Harry’s shoulder as the boy takes a minute to recover  from his orgasm.

           Louis takes a hand towards his own crotch, palming himself, desperately needing some sort of friction, some sort of contact, as well. Harry notices it when Louis whines into his ear, so he grabs his hand, taking it away from the spot where the boy needs it. Delicately, he switches their positions, helping Louis lay on his back.

           “So, are you gonna do something or-” Louis whines as Harry takes too long to move, observing the beauty that lays beneath him. Harry undoes the button and zipper of Louis’ jeans, slowly dragging them down his legs until they are completely discarded, then he moves to get rid of his boxer briefs. Louis hisses slightly, not knowing what to do with his hands, trying to stop himself from grabbing his own cock and wanking right there.

           Harry takes Louis in his hand, positioning himself between his thighs and tentatively pressing his thumb on the slit, gaining a whine from his friend. He has never heard anything so beautiful. He wishes he could listen to it for the rest of his life, but right now, he also wants to taste the man, so he licks a stripe up from the base of his cock to the head, teasingly.

          “Harry, please…” He continues the slow movements, kitten-licking at the tip and making the boy squirm. Until he decides it has been enough, and finally takes the boy in his mouth completely. Louis chokes out a gasp, unconsciously grabbing a handful of Harry’s hair and keeping him in place. Harry keeps going for long, agonizing minutes, sometimes slowing down to keep the boy on edge and hear the desperate pleas that he sputters without thinking.

           When he finally comes with a high-pitched shout, he does it in the other boy’s mouth. Harry receives him with pleasure, but he then goes and catches Louis’ mouth in his, the shorter boy’s cum being shared between them along with saliva, dripping down Louis’ cheek onto the pillow below his head.   

_ - _

          Louis wakes up alone in the movie room, and he feels around the cushions looking for his phone to check the time. He sees it is five past nine, and yawns loudly, getting up to look for his friend. Slowly, the happenings of last night begin catching up with him, panic slowly setting at the pit of his stomach.

           “Oh, God.” He exclaims, and hopes that what has happened will not turn things between him and Harry awkward. He is loving his company; Harry has made getting over Sam easier, and besides, losing him a second time would hurt too much.

He goes for a quick trip to the loo before continuing his quest for the other boy, nerves getting the best of him. He washes away the traces from last night stuck to his skin, blushing even if he is all by himself when he remembers how much he has let go. He avoids thinking about it too much, not wanting to give himself a little situation.

Once he is freshly showered and wearing clean clothes, he spends two minutes roaming around the house trying to find the owner. He spots him in the lounge, sitting on a big L-shaped couch and talking on the phone. Upon seeing Louis entering the room, Harry calls him over and he obeys, sitting awkwardly some centimeters away from him. He is so nervous and he cannot stop thinking about what they have done the previous night, so he does not know how to behave around the boy on his left.

The phone call ends moments later and Harry focuses his whole attention on the newcomer. “Good morning, Lou.” He says, and then frowns at him slightly, not liking the distance between them. So he closes the gap and sits so close their legs touch and he can hear the uneven breathing coming from the other body. “C’mereee,” he whines, opening his arm in an invitation, “won’t you give your fake boyfriend a morning cuddle?” He adds a pout to his statement and his eyes grow bigger. Just like that, Louis’ nerves dissipate, a smile replacing the scowl he has been sporting before.

           “You’re ridiculous.” He says, shaking his head fondly. Harry pulls him into a hug, wrapping his ridiculously long arms around the smaller frame. Giggles fill the room as Harry pecks Louis’ cheek repeatedly, the blue-eyed boy halfheartedly telling him to stop but the other never listening.

           Louis feels content in a way he has not done so since the day Sam broke up with him. In a way that he can genuinely laugh until his cheeks hurt and tears slip out of his eyes without a constant shadow looming over him, ready to claim his moments of joy and make his insides churn until he is bent over the toilet, throwing up nothing but bile.

           He wonders how Harry can be so calm after what they have done, but decides that if not talking about it and pretending nothing has happened will avoid them ruining their friendship with awkward conversations, then so be it.

          “I can’t believe you were just going to ignore me after that amazing blowjob.”

           Or maybe not.

           Louis starts coughing so hard that his eyes seem to be on the verge of popping out. Harry starts laughing loudly, a devilish grin on his face. Louis is going to kill him. He is literally the embodiment of the devil. When he finally regains himself, his face is as red as a tomato, but he is not sure if it is from the coughing, or from embarrassment. He returns his gaze towards the boy, only to find him  looking at him with an amused expression, smirking.

           Again, he won’t not have the upperhand.

           “Don’t think so highly of yourself, love. I have high standards; that wa _ s avera _ ge.”

           “Oh, is that so? Then I guess I’ll have to prove myself.” Harry whispers, so close to Louis’ ear that it makes him shiver.

          “We’ll see.” Louis pats his cheek, standing up and walking towards the kitchen, swaying his hips in the process. His exaggeratedly sensual act ends when he trips on a shoe that is on his way, to which Harry laughs loudly, amused and endeared. Louis flips him the bird.

-

           When they arrive back in Doncaster the next morning, they get off the plane holding hands. There is a photographer waiting to snap pictures of them; as the general reaction has been mostly positive and Harry’s management and public relation team is eager to make the most of it.

           Most tabloids are commenting on their relationship in a positive light, especially the news outlets that have been directly contacted by the singer’s publicists. Naturally, there are many that have not been as open-minded, like the usual right-wing conservative platforms calling it abominable and saying Harry confirming dating a boy right after a breakup is proof that homosexuals cannot maintain meaningful relationships. Harry has advised Louis to just leave it, but he is honestly not surprised when scrolling through his Twitter timelines while replying to some fans, he sees some people discussing Louis’ response to such articles. He knows he is going to be told off, but he smiles. His response has been on point; listing dozens of straight celebrities who have been in multiple on-and-off relationships and several cheating scandals, and asking why these cases do not make anyone question the loyalty of heterosexual couples.

          He has made his account on the microblogging website public under Jeff’s instruction -after purging it of any compromising or blackmail-worthy content, that is. So, his response has gained him praises and insults alike, but the satisfaction of speaking up against such bigotry is above all of that-not even the cruelest slurs thrown into his social media notifications can bring his spirits down.  

           The photographer is supposed to be outside the airport, yet Harry takes him by the hand and leads him all the way to the cab waiting for them outside, assuring him his bodyguards will retrieve their luggage. This kind of contact has become fairly common between them ever since the first night at Harry’s, and the events of that time have been repeated more than once since then.

           Under the pretense of it all being fake, with no feelings or commitments involved, they spent most of the flight cuddled up, watching an episode of some crappy rom-com from the nineties and talking lowly to themselves, the same blanket covering their bodies as they have successfully ignored the rest of the five people inside the private plane even though they are close acquaintances of Harry’s and some of them have already grown fond of Louis and vice versa. At some points, they have shared kisses; Harry planting them on the top of the other boy’s head mostly, and Louis leaving them below the other’s jaw line. They can only hope no one has given much thought to the fact that they spent fifteen of the forty-five-minute flight in the loo.

           Both of them have felt content and fuzzy, which reflects on their general behavior and facial expressions. But they refuse to address that theirs is not a typical behavior between friends, or to acknowledge that what they now have is more similar to a friends-with-benefits relationship than a contractual one.

           On Harry’s last day of the break, they make last minute plans to head to a club on the way to Louis’ dorm. Harry is the one who brings it up, saying he will miss the lads and the girls and that he would like to have a fun night out with them before he has to leave for America, since he does not know when he will come back to Doncaster.  Louis accepts, promising to message their friends.

           When he gets off the car and walks into the building, several people are looking at him with expectant eyes. But he tries to ignore them as much as he can. It is still a little uncomfortable, especially because these are people who have ignored him throughout the two years he has been living in his flat. But he does not say anything or react in any way, knowing that whatever he does might have any sort of impact on Harry’s public image.

           He opens the door to his flat and finds Zayn, shirtless, on shorts and socks, eating cereal from the box as he watches Big Brother.

           “Hello, asshole, did you miss me?” He says as he enters the place, throwing his luggage onto the floor. Zayn turns towards him, unamused at the insult. He plops down on the couch next to his friend, pressing himself against the boy’s body and trying to take the box of Cheerios from him.

           “Yes, unbelievable, but I actually missed your annoying voice.” Zayn replies then, handing the box to his friends, who shoves his hand inside and grabs a handful of the sweetened cereal.

           He tells Zayn about his trip, leaving certain details out. He narrates, with a glint to his eyes, everything he and Harry have done together, and the raven-haired lad cannot help but look at him in a suspicious manner.

           He sounds beyond excited, giddy almost. And Zayn likes to see him like that, is relieved that he is not getting pissed while sobbing over Sam until he passes out. But it concerns him that the reason he seems so content is another boy. One whom he is fake-dating, and who is leaving the continent within hours.

           Louis is in the middle of telling him a joke Harry has made when his phone starts to ring. He stops mid-talk and looks at the screen, his smile growing wider than before. Zayn takes a guess it is Harry -which is confirmed once Louis greets him by his pet name.

           Zayn watches closely as he speaks on the phone, the grin not leaving his face for a second, giggles filling the tiny room. Somewhere along the conversation, he adopts a low, slow voice, one that is almost flirtatious.

           Zayn hears Louis say, “yeah, yeah, I’ll tell him.” Then he ends the phone call, but the visible joy does not abandon his face when he turns towards his best friend, who has his eyebrow raised.

           “Zayn, do you wanna tag along and go to the club tonight?” He questions, almost buzzing with excitement. “You know Haz is leaving tomorrow and says he’s gonna miss you lads.”

           “Yeah, sure.” He shrugs, not finding any reason to decline the invitation. Until. “Wait a minute...”

          “Yeah?”

           “You said  _ ‘you’ _ , not  _ ‘us’ _ .” He points out, squinting at him. Louis curses the day he decided to become friends with someone so smart.

           “Yeah, well, about that…” Louis pauses, looking at him with what he hopes are puppy eyes. “He invited me to the States for a week and two days.”

           “You didn’t accept, did you?” Zayn is now convinced Louis has lost his mind.

           “I did, actually…”

           “You’re crazy.”

           “I have to attend some events with him. Then I’ll be back.”

           Zayn looks like he is going to scold him. And that is part of why they are best friends in the first place; neither of them has ever been scared of voicing their thoughts to one another and call each other out on their bullshit if they might be doing something unreasonable. The scolding does not come, and instead, he sighs.

           “Are you sure you’re not half-faking this whole thing, Lou?” He words his question as tactile as he can. Louis’ eyes widen immediately, but he stutters out a high-pitched  _ ‘yes, of course’ _ . “Okay, then. Bring me a souvenir.”

           “Sure.” Louis beams, face flushed red.

           The rest of their friends, minus Perrie, decide to tag along, bummed that they will not see Harry in a long time. They head to a club located in a rather wealthy side of Yorkshire and sit in a booth with an actual cordon separating them from the rest of the party-goers. 

Harry sits with the wall on his left side and Louis on his right, followed by Zayn, a girl whom he has invited named Gigi, and Niall in that order; while Eleanor, Sophia and Liam have sat across from them, Liam with a girl named Danielle by his side.

           Harry has ordered all sorts of drinks and the table is full. They are a little hesitant at first to drink, but after a while their inhibitions wear off and they are red-faced and tipsy. At around one in the morning, they decide to join the crowd in the dance floor, except for Niall, who is in a far corner trying to chat up a girl.

           The music is loud, and the bass resonates loudly in Louis’ ears, the vibrations buzzing in his chest, and the blinking white lights making him feel a little dizzy, but he is completely letting loose, hands up in the air as he jumps and sings along to an EDM song being played by the DJ. Harry has stopped to watch the gorgeous boy, mesmerized, wanting nothing but to touch him, and kiss him, and hold him for the rest of the night. Maybe the rest of his life, as well.

           When the song fades into a slow one in a smooth transition, Harry walks up towards the boy whom he has been staring at, until his chest is pressed to Louis’ back and his hands are securely placed on his hips. Louis puts his left hand on top of the one that rests on his hip, and his right hand finds its way to the back of Harry’s hair, getting tangled up among its damp strands. He pulls the boy’s head downwards until his chin is resting on his shoulder, leaning his own head back and closing his eyes. Not missing his chance, Harry takes in the boy’s smell, as they sway to the rhythm of the song. The taller man leaves tiny kisses all over the expanse of his neck.

           After what feels like an eternity, Louis turns around, leaning up on his tippy toes to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck and unashamedly bring him down for a slow, languid kiss. Harry is pleased to oblige, taking every possible chance to touch him and savour him,  ignoring their surroundings and some of Louis’ friends who stare at them questioningly from the booth.

           At two, Louis and Harry announce that they are leaving and ask the rest if anyone else wants to. They all decline, saying they are going to stay for a bit longer and then head towards Niall’s for pints and food, so the two boys leave on their own.

           As always, Harry drops Louis off in front of his building, but after some hesitation, Louis invites him to stay the night, using the excuse that he does not want him to drive drunk, when in fact, what he does not want is to spend any minute away from his friend. He does not have to ask him twice, Harry accepts right away.

           Louis quickly takes a shower, wanting to get rid of the dry sweat on his skin and to sober up a bit, but first, he lets Harry in his and Zayn’s room, handing him a pair of sweatpants for him to change into.

           Once Harry is alone in the room, he inspects his surroundings. It is tiny, his own bathroom is possibly bigger than this, and it is like two worlds colliding. Zayn’s side of the room has paintings hanging all over the walls, with art supplies on every surface, while Louis’ has photographies and cutouts from what he assumes are magazines, creating a lovely collage. Curious, Harry takes a close look to each picture; most of them are photos of him and his friends in different stages of their lives, some of them are of the plays he used to be in, others are of his family. Harry smiles fondly, Louis is so immensely loved.

           Harry feels his chest contract. He has the whole world adoring him, fans wanting to be with him, dying for his attention, but nothing remotely close to this.

           The door to the room opens and Louis walks in, wearing a jumper with sleeves that are too long and joggers, his feet clad in spaceship-patterned socks.

           “I’m so sleepy.” He yawns, stretching his arms behind his neck. Harry opens his arms from his spot on Louis’ bed, inviting him. He blushes slightly, noting that the boy is shirtless, but he does not think too much about it, and joins him. He lays on top of the singer’s bare chest, palm open above his left peck, where he can feel the pulsations of his heart.

           They stay in complete silence for around fifteen minutes, both lost in the moment, too caught up in the warm feeling of safety each other’s arms provide. There is a hand securely placed on the curve of Louis’ waist, under his jumper, which has become a very common position for it. Louis does not seem to mind.

           “Do you remember when we were in high school, and we would always team up for everything?” Louis breaks the silence after a while, voice low, laced with a hint of nostalgia.

           “How could I forget?” Harry says, eyes closed, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

           “Every teacher always tried to separate us.”

           “Wankers.” Louis chuckles, sharing the sentiment.

           And that is how they spend the next hour; reminiscing their teenage years and revisiting the most meaningful events they have experienced together. Failed exams, collective detention for a week after they and their classmates had a paint fight during art class, going to gigs with all of their friends and thinking they were so grown-up for drinking alcohol without their parents knowing. Then, being told off once they arrived home smelling like beer.

           As they discuss everything that they can remember at four am after having drank considerably, they also share kisses. Never wanting to stop tasting the other. It is lovely, nice, sweet, and Louis does not want any of it to change.

\- 

          Harry wakes up at noon, cuddled up with Louis, who is still deeply asleep, his now dry hair sticking out in multiple directions. As cheesy as it sounds, he spends several minutes just watching the boy sleep and studying all of his features. Committing every detail to memory, scared of the moment he will not get to wake up to this in the future. He observes the way his eyebrows are arched and almost perfectly outlined, the diamond shape of his nose, the freckles littering his cheeks and the golden of his eyelids; enticed. His chest flutters, and  _ boy _ , he is so, so infatuated with him. He tries, but he cannot resist the urge to leave a light kiss on his forehead, softly, careful to not disrupt his sleep.

           After that, he removes himself from under the boy, and takes another second to stare at him as he shifts, frowning at the loss of human warmth but not waking up. He chuckles, and leaves the room. He walks into the living room, surprised to see Zayn in front of the stove because he has not realized when he arrived home.

           “I didn’t expect to find you here.” He says after they exchange greetings, the other boy shrugs while stirring some soup.

           “Could say the same.” He points out, suspiciously looking at Harry. “I just grew tired after a while.” Zayn has never really been a party person, and though he has enjoyed himself last night, all the socializing and noise have exhausted him at some point and he needed to go back home. He opted to sleep on the couch, though, not knowing what he might find in his and Louis’ room.

           Zayn turns off the stove and pours some soup in a bowl, handing it to the other man. Harry thanks him and goes to sit on the couch, mouth watering at the smell. After a while, the other sits by his side as well, with his own share of soup. Silence lingers between the two as the TV plays a soap opera with the volume to its lowest, accompanied by the faint noise of students laughing and rushing to class in the hallway.

           “So, at what time do you leave for the States?” Zayn asks, curiously eyeing the other.

           “At four, should probably start getting ready soon.” Harry answers, a bit awkwardly as he feels some sort of tension in the room; like he is being judged under a magnifying glass. Silence reigns again for a couple minutes, until Zayn speaks again.

           “Louis seems to be really fond of you.” He points out, cautiously, watching the other’s reaction closely. Harry tilts his head to the side, seemingly confused at first. But then, he smiles sheepishly, looking down at his now empty bowl with a slight pink tint on his cheeks.

           “Do you think so?” He cannot even hide the fondness in his own voice, or how breathless he sounds; as if the implications of Zayn’s comment has made sparks fly in the tiny lounge.

           “Yeah, I know him; he’s not really faking much.”

           “What do you mean?” Harry dares ask, wanting to know more, to make sure he can let himself start hoping. He does not receive an answer, though, because then they hear the door of the bedroom open and close, which indicates that Louis is up.

           “Look,” he says in a low voice, “Louis is my best friend and my brother, and he has come out of a very bad breakup not long ago, so you better not do anything stupid. I won’t mind going to jail for breaking a popstar’s bones.” He threatens, but Harry does not get the chance to reply, or assure him he would never do something to hurt Louis,  because right in that moment, he boy in question joins them in the couch. He looks grumpy, hair unkempt, his jumper sporting a newly-acquired toothpaste stain. In Harry’s humble opinion, it is the most adorable sight he has had the privilege to witness. His heart does that funny thing again where it flutters inside his ribcages as it tries to escape and follow the other, like in that short film that he watched a few months ago.

           The older boy plops down between him and Zayn, literally lying across them as he lays his head on Harry’s lap and his feet on Zayn’s. The latter looks slightly annoyed, but not Harry, who takes the chance to rake his fingers through Louis’ hair, massaging his scalp.

          Upon arriving in the United States of America, there is a multitude of people waiting, fans and paps alike, at the airport. Preston warns them both about it, and Louis feels a little nervous, none of the crowds he has witnessed in England have been big so he does not know what to expect. Preston positions himself in front of the singer, and starts walking ahead, face stoic. Harry takes Louis’ hand and pulls him closer to himself, following his bodyguard with his head low to avoid the flashes.

           The mob is not like anything Louis has ever experienced; not even in the flea market during Christmas sales. There are at least two hundred people all closely gathered outside the John F. Kennedy airport in New York, and as they venture themselves into it in an attempt to get to their van, the people start pushing and pulling at them. Some are screaming, everyone is filming them, paps are throwing malicious questions at them. It is overwhelming and scary, Louis does not understand how Harry can live with this every single day of his life.

           Someone grabs ahold of his arm and pulls him towards them further into the mob, and he is close to panicking, unsure of what he is supposed to do during moments like this. Harry is quick to notice the hand that has slipped out of his, though, and turns back towards his direction immediately, pulling him towards himself and wrapping his arms around his frame, shielding him from the screaming mass of bodies. It manages to calm Louis down enough until they are safe inside the vehicle.

           They head to their hotel, the  _ Girasol _ , and though he still feels somewhat shaken up, it all goes away when he cuddles up to Harry and the boy starts singing softly to him. It is one of his favorite songs, and his raspy, slightly hoarse voice replaces the feeling of helplessness with something similar to the safety of home.

           Once in their suite, Louis jumps on the king-size bed, feeling like he is lying on a real cloud, Vans still on. Harry has not, for one second, stopped thinking about what Zayn has told him earlier. He is not stupid, he understands Zayn is implying Louis might have real, romantic feelings for him. It seems unlikely, and maybe delusional as well, but Zayn knows Louis better than he does, and somewhere deep inside, he feels hopeful.

           Zayn's threat about hurting him has made him realize that he wants to do exactly the opposite; he wants to cherish him and hold him all the time, make him smile until his cheeks are flushed red and spend every single moment of his days showering him with compliments and words of praise. He finds himself wanting to impress Zayn, even.

           Well, it definitely seems he might have feelings for Louis as well. Has had them for a while now, but has not admitted it to himself in fear of ruining everything he has built with Louis and lose him again. Zayn's words have given him a flicker of hope that he has not had before; thus, he is determined to test his luck.

          Nervously, he sits on the bed, leaning his back on the cushioned headboard. The bed shifts under his weight, and Louis immediately rolls over and puts his head on the boy's lap, which has become something very frequent, and grabs his hand to intertwine their fingers. Harry’s free hand starts earnestly caressing his hair and his cheeks, booping his nose once, which makes Louis giggle.

           That is when Harry realizes just how terribly gone for him he is.

         "Hey, Lou?" He voices, barely above a whisper, and waits for the other to look at him. Which he does, barely a second later.

           "Mmh?"

           "Would you like to go out tonight?" He stutters only a bit. He finds it ironic; he has talked to thousands of people in a single night, has confronted music moguls during too-long meetings, has met with A-list celebrities and shaken their hands while holding casual conversations, but never in any of those occasions has he felt as nervous as he does right now.

           "I thought we didn't have any sightings until the award ceremony?"

           "Yeah, we don't." Harry admits, fingers fidgeting. “Still, wanted to take  _ you  _ out...” He words his sentence deliberately, hoping Louis will catch on.

           "So... like a date?"

        "I mean, if you want... I wouldn't be opposed to calling it that." Harry admits, eyes wandering around the room, too nervous to meet Louis', afraid of his rejection. Louis takes a few seconds to study the weight of the other’s words. He is asking him on a real date, outside of their contract. He might, actually, be interested in him beyond their facade, his career and the benefits he is receiving by faking to date a university student who is outspoken, loyal, and gorgeous.

           "I wouldn't be opposed to calling it that, either." He says, finally. And Harry can breathe again. After the words leave the older boy's mouth, both of them break into the biggest smiles. Then Harry leans down and pecks the other's lips, hand traveling to his cheek to caress it adoringly.

           "Gonna get some things ready with Preston then. I'll be right back!" He says, excitedly, and runs out the room.

           Louis is left behind, staring at him as he leaves, with a giddy feeling, a smile that could possibly break his face, and a lot expectations for the night.

           He lays down on the bed, excitedly tweeting  _ ‘date night!’ _ adding a few hearts. If anyone asks, he will say it is for show. Secretly, he knows it’s not.

           He scrolls down his feeds and notices several people he follows are talking about a common theme; Nick and Harry. Curious, he opens one of the conversations, which links him to an article published on The Daily Mail; a newspaper that he can only relate to right wing apologia and celebrity gossip, so he knows the article will not be pleasant to read.

           He cautiously opens it, uneasiness setting at the bottom of his stomach. He feels some sort of relief when he skims through it and realizes that it is only an article full of speculation with no solid proof whatsoever, and it talks about the two men re-connecting through text messages, and how they will reunite during the AMAs ceremony in the next day.

           Harry has not mentioned anything of the sorts. And he knows, he knows it is not his obligation to do so, they are not dating in the end, but he cannot help the jealousy building up. He sighs, and sets the feeling aside in favor of going to the bathroom to get showered. He, not Nicholas Grimshaw, has a date with Harry after all. The thought makes him smile to himself.

           An hour later, Preston texts Louis, telling him to go to the parking lot where a car is waiting for him. He checks himself in the mirror one last time, and leaves the room. Preston is not the one who is going to take him to whatever destination Harry has chosen, but another man who looks equally intimidating and who introduces himself as Alberto.

           He is taken to Central Park, and he excitedly looks through the window at vast green that greets him as they enter. His excitement only grows bigger as he spots Harry, looking extremely handsome in a pair of faded blue jeans and a  _ The Killers _ t-shirt. He almost jumps out of the car, walking fast towards his date.

           Harry beams at him when he sees him, opening his arms to receive him in a warm hug. After holding each other for a minute, they separate and Louis starts asking questions about what they are going to do but Harry does not answer any of it, wanting it all to be a surprise.

           “Coming to Central Park is a must for any tourist in New York.” Harry points out as he takes Louis’ hand and leads him further into the park.

           “Then, show me around, New York expert.” Louis teases, and Harry fondly rolls his eyes at that. They walk among tall trees, serenaded by the chirping of countless species of birds and the sound of leaves creaking under their feet. At some point, they stop to feed a squirrel that has scurried down a tree and followed them ever since it noticed the bags of peanuts in their hands. They are surprised to see it is very friendly and not shy at all, probably used to humans by now, and they even have the chance to take several pictures before it has its cheeks full with three peanuts and runs back to another tree.

           They stop in front of the lake, and Harry tells Louis that this is his favorite place in the whole city.

           “It’s magnificent.” Louis points out, wide-eyed.

           “Yeah.” The other agrees. “C’mon!” Then he pulls him closer towards the lake, and Louis panics for a moment thinking he is going to jump on the water, but he stops abruptly just by the edge and calls for a man named Giancarlo. He takes a better look and notices the gondolas, lining up the lake, only a few meters away from them.

           The man, Giancarlo, brings one of them close to where they are standing and Harry jumps on it, greeting the man with a handshake.

           “C’mon, Lou! We’re gonna ride a gondola!” He extends his hand towards him, and helps him get on the gondola. They sit on one of the ends, with Giancarlo in the opposite side, giving them the feeling of privacy as they navigate across the lake, the sun kissing their skin softly and the wind blowing on their faces.

           Louis is mesmerized as he stares at the green of the trees and the spot where it meets the blue of the sky, it feels almost as a metaphor. Like it represents him and Harry. He feels silly for having such a cheesy thought, but he cannot help it, and he lays his head on the boy’s chest, watching birds fly above them, the soft sound of the waves underneath them relaxing him. 

          They take a picture, with Harry kissing Louis’ cheek and the vast lake behind them. Louis likes it so much he posts it to his own Instagram. He is less cryptic than Harry when it comes to the caption, and only titles it as  _ ‘siiiiiiiick!’ _ . The boy by his side chuckles, and pecks his cheek again out of endearment.

           When their ride is over twenty minutes later, they continue walking around, mesmerized by the wonders of nature and its tokens of love for the humankind, constantly photographing all the animals they manage to spot. They get especially excited when they spot two raccoons. However, they seem to be less friendly than the squirrel they have seen before because once Louis and Harry attempt to get closer to offer them a piece of fruit, they run off.

           “Oh, well.” They sigh, but then they start laughing, certainly having fun.

           They reach an open field after having walked for about thirty minutes. And Harry, feeling a little tired, lays down on the grass. Louis sits by his side, and Harry takes the opportunity to place his head on the boy’s lap. The blue-eyed boy starts raking his hands through his hair, untangling some strands of tangled hair, Harry hums pleasantly, relaxed. And then he begins braiding some of the strands of hair.

           “You look pretty.” Louis takes a picture of him with four braids around his head.

           Then, they hear faint music in the distance. Curious, Louis turns around and notices two girls and two boys playing a song a few meters away from their spot.

           “Let’s go there, Haz.” Louis gets on his feet and nudges Harry, who seems to be close to falling asleep. The boy does not stand up so Louis takes his hand and forcefully pulls him up, struggling a little at the beginning but he manages to do it after a few tries. Then, he runs and pulls Harry towards the group of singers.

           A girl is playing the guitar and singing, another one is playing a harmonica, one of the boys is singing, and the other is playing another acoustic guitar. They are playing well-known songs adapted to their own style and everyone seems to love it.

           Louis stops in a spot where they can see them well, without tall people blocking the view, and Harry catches up a few seconds later. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and puts his chin on his shoulder, closing his eyes, losing himself in the music and the sensation of having the boy so close to him. They stay like that for as long as the band plays, swaying to the rhythm of the songs, Harry singing some of the lyrics softly in Louis’ ear.

           It is nice, and neither of them thinks they have ever had a better time.

           When they get back to their suite, Harry leads Louis to the balcony by the hand, both excitedly commenting on the activities they have taken part in throughout the day, Louis’ favorite part has been the gondola ride while Harry loved feeding the squirrel. They are content.

           Harry opens the sliding glass doors nervously to where a table has been set with a variety of dishes and a bottle of wine. The balcony is dimly lit by the light of the fairy lights placed around and the natural light of the moon.  

           “I told Sylvia to set this up while we were out.” Harry admits, as the other stares wide-eyed at everything and they take a seat. “I must admit, she’s done it better than I imagined.” The fairy lights, the view around them, and the fact that Harry has organized a day-long date in a couple hours make him feel dizzy with adoration, so he turns around and kisses  him deeply.

           “Thank you, this is lovely.” He says, breathlessly.

           They have foie gras for dinner, with Caesar salad and sauteed potatoes. It is Louis’ first time tasting foie gras, and when Harry tells him where it comes from, he has some doubts about actually eating it, but after being repeatedly prompted to, he ends up taking a bite. He almost moans in delight.

           When they are finished, they talk about their day some more, playing footsie under the table as if they were teenagers, giggling and happy.

           “I had a wonderful day.” Louis says, sincerely, finishing his glass of wine. “Thank you.”

          At some point, they get cold so they go back into the room, Louis jumping straight onto the bed.

           “Come here.” He calls out for Harry as he sees the boy walking in an opposite direction, actually doing grabby hands at him. The younger boy chuckles, and opens their mini-fridge to take out a plate with the tiny pavlovas covered in blueberry jam he has requested from the hotel. He sits just beside Louis, offering him some of the dessert he has brought.

           Once they are finished, Louis sets the plate aside and, having wanted to do this all day, sits on Harry’s lap, his legs on both sides of his hips, enclosing him between his body and the headboard. He watches the boy intently, no more words being exchanged as they keep their eyes locked on each other. Harry’s lips are red due to the jam they have just eaten, and Louis has the sudden but incessant need to taste it. To compare and determine whether his lips are as sweet as the miniature cakes have been. So he leans forward, and catches him in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. It lasts seconds, minutes, hours, Louis does not know, because he lets himself get lost in the moment, Harry’s big hands finding their way under his shirt to splay themselves on the dip of his back.

           A couple minutes later, Louis parts from him, and Harry attempts to follow his mouth but he does not let him. There is a string of pinkish saliva joining up their open, panting mouths, which breaks once Louis leans in Harry’s ear, warm breath making him shudder.

           “I want you to fuck me. Now.” Louis demands lowly, in a raspy voice that makes it sound almost innocent. Harry is rendered speechless, having heard all kinds of obscenities from the boy on top of him has not prepared him for the filthy words to leave his mouth yet.

           He catches Louis’ lips again, bringing him down by the back of his head in a slow, lazy kiss. Wanting to take their time to enjoy every single second, the kiss is slow and calm, full of emotion and honesty. Tongues dancing to the harmony that their beating hearts create in the solitude of the suite.

          As cliché as it sounds, it feels like the world has literally stopped, and they are the only ones moving. Forgetting all about their opposite lives, their horrible exes, and the media gossip. No sound, no words spoken, no screaming fans; just the two of them and the moon outside the glass doors.

           It feels almost liberating, to be kissing, to be touching tonight, knowing it is real. Knowing it means something to the other; and that it probably means the same to both of them.

           Harry puts his hand on the sides of Louis’ waist, gripping tighter, never wanting to let go, feeling the uncontrollable need to make sure this is all real, and not a cruel illusion created by his mind.

           Eventually, the kiss becomes more heated as the overwhelming emotions catch up with them, making them feel breathless and want just more, more and more. Needing to take everything they can in case it disappears. Harry lets out a low moan as Louis unconsciously ruts against his crotch, his hand firm on the base of the neck of the man underneath him.

          Louis bites the other’s lip, stopping their kiss in a sudden need for air, panting. Harry takes the opportunity to nuzzle his neck, leaving multiple small kisses in the small expanse of skin. Louis squeaks in surprise when the other boy suddenly bites him in the spot under his jawline, sucking on it rather harshly and leaving a small bruise right next to one of the several fading hickeys he gave him a few nights ago.

           “Harry, Harry, please…” Louis whines, and Harry kisses up his way to the boy’s mouth again. He is breathless, and suddenly, he is feeling too much, thousands of thoughts going through his mind in an ungodly speed and Louis cannot make up what they are. So, he releases them in the only way he can; showing them to the other.

           Harry focuses on Louis’ pink, soft lips and the way they feel against his own; sweet and caring. He focusing on the tongue and the way it studies every inch of his mouth with passion, leaving traces of the slightly blueberry-flavored saliva on its way. He focuses on the little sounds hands that are now tangled in his hair again, his nails lightly scratching at his scalp. He focuses on the weight on his lap, slow sensual movements right on his crotch.

           His mind right now is so, so full of Louis that there is no room for anything else. No PR strategies, no hypocritical celebrities, no deadlines, no nothing. He is so lost in him, him, him and only him that at the moment, nothing else exists.

           He notices mid-thought that he is already hard, and the slow teasing grinds on him make him the much more desperate.

           “I, I want you, Harry.” Louis voices against his lips again, quickening his grind to emphasize and get his point across. The room is mostly dark, but when Harry opens his eyes and meets Louis’, he can see something similar to a silent plea there. Need. Adoration. Desperation. Fear. Everything muddled up in a suffocating mix that leaves the singer wordless.

           Holding his stare for eternal seconds, Harry nods, leaning in to kiss his lips again. The grip on his waist loosens up as Harry hands feel around all of his back, stomach, chest; causing goosebumps when his cold fingertips trace the outline of his spine.

           Harry, as he did that night in his movie room, carefully maneuvers Louis, and with his hands holding his waist and the upper part of his back, carefully lays him down on the bed, head nested on the pillows.

           He hovers above him, his knees and hands supporting his weight at Louis’ sides. He looks down and sees the overbearing need in his friend’s face, his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth parted; plump, swollen lips freshly wet with both his and Harry’s spit. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, managing to pull him down, very softly despite the lust and want and need flowing through his veins and straight to his groin. He lets out a moan when Harry palms him in the middle of the kiss, and Harry smirks as Louis’ hard cock twitches under his own hand.

           Harry breaks the kiss again, and gets halfway up, supporting all of his weight on his knees, to slowly undo Louis’ buttons. He drags down his skinnies along his legs, and admires the way the moonlight breaking through the doors shines on his tanned thighs. After a second, he manages to take the piece of clothing off and throw it somewhere to the side.

           He can vaguely see the outline of his hard cock through his underwear, a small part of it a few shades darker than the rest because it has already been wet with pre-cum. Harry gasps, and feels his own jeans get tighter than they usually are. Then, he takes his hands to the hem of Louis’ shirt, sliding it up and off, slowly, delicately almost. Louis shivers as a rush of air conditioning hits his skin but he is sure the feeling of Harry’s hands is enough to keep him warm.

           Louis tugs the hem of Harry’s own blouse, and tugs at it, demanding, and the boy obeys without a second thought, letting the boy get rid of it and throw it away. Louis lets himself drag the tip of his index finger across Harry’s chest and his abs, practically salivating at the sight.

          Once he removes his own, Harry positions himself between Louis’ thighs to avoid collapsing onto the other. Then, he kisses his lips again, not getting tired of the taste. Then, slowly, very slowly, he kisses his chin, and neck, leaving another bruise next to the previous one. He kisses his prominent collarbones, his lips feather touches on the boy’s heated skin.

In an excruciatingly slow manner, he slowly goes down and Louis moans loudly, gripping Harry’s hair tightly, when the green-eyed boy catches his right nipple in his mouth, biting rather harshly. His tongue rolls skillfully on the small, sensitive nub.

“You’re such a tease.” Louis says between gasps, and he unconsciously jerks his hips up towards Harry’s body, body desperately searching for any sort of friction, when Harry sucks on it. The boy cannot avoid the smirk that appears on his face then; amazed by the fact that he has those effects on the other man. Because he himself is going absolutely insane with all the emotions and feelings Louis causes on him all at once.

          Louis takes his own hand to his growing erection, and tries to get hold of it through his boxer briefs, but Harry kindly and delicately takes his wrist and places it on his bare chest, and Louis whines.

          “Let me do it, yeah?” Harry says, and kisses his belly softly, making the little butterflies inside Louis’ stomach flap their wings wildly. Harry slips his fingers under the elastic band of Louis’ boxers and pulls them down his legs at a slow pace. Louis’ cock falls on his tummy and he whines loudly. Harry loves it, loves to have him like his, pliant under his touch, knowing that he is feeling good and needy and all because of him.

          Harry sits up, and takes a full, long moment to admire the scene before his eyes. The most gorgeous boy in the world, lying completely naked under him, the lights of the stars and the moon lighting up the sharp edges and soft curves of his body, his hands gripping the blanket below himself tightly in an attempt to not touch himself, his flushed chest rising and falling in a quick, uneven pace, his neck and collarbones littered with bruises-new and old ones.

           It is a sight to behold, and one he wants to commit to memory forever. He brushes his fingers slightly across his legs, causing him shivers, and the hairs on his body to go up, then he teasingly kisses them, too. Louis’ hips go up again, and Harry  _ finally _ takes his cock in his hand. Not wanting to make him wait any more, he starts pumping him slowly. Slow drags of the hand that drive the smaller lad crazy as he receives what he wants but still not being enough. He presses his thumb on the slit, following a circular motion with his hand.

           Louis whines, squirms under the boy’s administration, who is relentless and does not quicken his pace, keeping him on edge.

           “Ha-harry.”  He breathes out, his face flushed and beads of sweat collecting on his forehead, dampening his fringe. With his other hand, Harry fixes his hair and pulls it all the way back so it will not fall on his eyes.

Harry takes the small bottle of lube that he has surreptitiously placed on the bed before, and opens the lid with his teeth, not stopping jerking Louis off. Pouring a considerable amount of lube on his fingers, he takes his time opening Louis up, wanting to make the experience as pleasant as possible for him. The boy lets out little cries, making Harry desperate, loving the way he manages to get Louis to let his inhibitions go. Once he has three fingers in him and Harry feels it might be enough, he stops jerking him and moving his digits.

“Are you ready, love?” He asks, gently kissing his cheek, removing his own underwear.

          “Y-yeah.” He manages to say, and Harry smiles adoringly, kissing his forehead, his lips lingering there for a few seconds as he manages to roll up a condom and slick up his dick with a big quantity of lube with one hand, the other supporting him on the bed.

“Okay, I’m going to do it now.” Louis bends his knees, parting them as if giving the man permission to take him as he pleases. Harry lines up his cock with Louis’ hole, and starts pushing in slowly, not wanting to hurt the boy even a little. Louis hisses as he feels Harry opening him even more, the burning sensation overwhelming, but pleasant. Once Harry has fully bottomed out, he stays still, giving the other time to adjust and get used to the intrusion. Louis’ ankles are intertwined behind Harry’s back now, nails digging on the hard muscles of his arms. Harry starts thrusting in slowly, making the moments last, and the feelings linger. It is good, but at some point, the relaxed pace is not enough anymore.

“Harder, Haz.” Louis begs, and Harry does not do it right away, but starts increasing his tempo gradually, until he is pounding into him as fast as he is physically able to. Louis’ hands are back to the blanket, gripping them tightly until his knuckles turn white, fighting not to grab his cock to end the agonizing chase for his orgasm.

Harry reaches one of his hands, and laces their fingers together, holding his hand tightly as their bodies connect in the most intimate way.

“You’re so gorgeous, Lou, so beautiful.” Harry praises, which makes Louis whine louder. Soon, he finds the perfect angle, and hits Louis’ spot, repeatedly hitting the sensitive muscle and gaining loud, heavenly moans as a reward.

          Louis is the first one to come, sputtering white on his tummy, untouched. Harry does not last much longer, though, and soon he is coming as well when Louis tightens himself around his dick. He kisses the boy again, slow and clumsy, as they stay connected for a while.

Harry slowly pulls out, making Louis hiss from the sensitivity. He tiredly plops down on the left side of the bed, Louis immediately cuddling up to him, feeling extra needy. Harry chuckles, and tries to wipe himself and the other with one of their discarded shirts.

There is hope blossoming in his heart as Louis lazily searches for his hand, and falls asleep like that; fingers intertwined.

          They are still sleeping in a tangled mess of limbs when there is a knock on the door. It is ignored at first, but then comes a shout. Harry’s ear has become quite acute when it comes to that voice; Jeff’s, so he begrudgingly wakes up, carefully untangling himself from the other body. He misses its warmth right away, feeling as though a part of him has stayed in bed, attached to Louis. He puts on a pair of pants and clumsily walks towards the door, opening with half-closed eyes, messy hair, and a frown to match his mood. Jeff, on the other hand, looks pissed.

          “Harry, you’re late. You should’ve been ready for rehearsals ten minutes ago.” He tells him right away, almost shouting, foregoing any sort of greeting.

          “What?” He asks, surprised. “What time is it?”

          “It’s almost noon. Hurry up!” Jeff demands, giving him a lecture about how his appearance during these awards is monumental for his career because it is his big comeback after the scandal, reminding him that they should take advantage of the momentum while media and fans are talking nonstop about him and Louis. His manager finally leaves, and he goes for a needed shower, putting on a white  _ Rolling Stones _ t-shirt and black joggers afterwards. Once he is a little presentable, he walks towards the bed, where Louis is still deeply asleep, and leans down to leave a small kiss on his temple.

          What happened the night before has put him in a good mood; having the chance to witness Louis in his most vulnerable and needy moments has been a privilege. He has been trusted with that side of his persona, and he would be damned if he didn’t cherish it. But he will cherish it. With newly-acquired motivation, he is determined to show Louis how much he wants to hold him, to cherish him, to kiss him, to protect him, to make him happy. And in the future, love him. The future that he knows is near, because with each day that passes, Louis takes more and more of his mind. Steals more and more territory in his heart.

          He is hopelessly falling for him; and he does not mind at all.

           “Babe, I have to go to rehearsals.” He whispers in his ear,  the other boy barely hums his acknowledgement. “I’ll be back at around seven in the evening. If you want to go out or do something, tell Preston, okay?” His response, once again, is only a hum, so he chuckles and leaves.

          The rest of the day for Harry becomes a frenzy, and in the ephemeral moments he has the chance to sit down and take a breath, he misses the calmness that comes with lying down next to Louis, misses how grounding his voice is, how he can feel every ounce of pressure leave his chest when he hears his mischievous giggles. He misses him, and misses the way he feels with him.

          The venue for the American Music Awards is being set up as he finally gets a thirty-minute break before he has to do an interview for a gossip news show. He sits back in one of the seats in the back and watches as a rock band from Seattle takes the stage to rehearse. He lets their music relax him as he pulls out his phone to see he has gotten some messages from Louis.

           The messages consist of very dramatic and detailed narrations of his activities for the day, along with some pictures he has taken around the city, including one in front of a  _ Nuts 4 Nuts _ cart, holding a big sized bag of honey-battered peanuts. He chuckles, his smile reaching his eyes with so much adoration that someone from afar wonders what he is looking at on the screen. He is about to respond when there is a tap on his shoulder. He turns around to find none other than Nick, standing there in a flower-patterned blouse unbuttoned until the spot where his abdomen begins, and skinny jeans, sporting his usual perfectly styled quiff.

           There has been a time, at some point, when the sight would have made Harry’s knees weak; but now he finds the blouse hideous, his hair too perfect for his liking and the skinny jeans do not fit him as good as they do Louis.

          Nick seems nervous, maybe a little apologetic; it is the first time they see each other since the night both have decided to part ways. They have not spoken to each other ever since, and as for Harry, he has not reached out to mutual friends to ask for Nicholas’ whereabouts. He is sure the other has not done that either.

           Despite the fact that their fallout happened way before Nick hooked up with his co-host, Harry has thought that seeing him again, whenever it happened, would hurt. That it would disarm him and make him weak; would clog his throat and make his chest tighten. But he is surprised when he stands up and shake his hand in a polite greeting, and he even responds  _ ‘sure’ _ when Nick asks if he can sit next to him. He does it all in a calm manner; and his insides do not twist, his lungs do not contract. He is not affected at all, and he even forgets the presence sitting a seat away from him for two whole minutes and he reads another detailed message from Louis, who tells him he is tired, and stares at a picture of himself that he has sent him, wearing a ridiculous Lady Liberty hat.

           Nick glances at him, curious, and smiles softly.

           “Is that your Louis boy?” He says it, not in a malicious way, and Harry feels all sorts of flying insects invading his stomach every time anyone refers to Louis as his. He nods, shyly, scared that if he speaks his voice will give out the lie. “You seem happy.”

           “I am.” He says fast, before he can even stop himself. And he is taken aback when he realizes he is not lying; it comes almost as an epiphany. In this exact moment in his life; he is content, he is happy. He finds joy in a boy who is made of sand grains and stardust, of airy laughter and ocean tears.

           “Hey, I never got the chance to tell you this, but I’m sorry for what I did to you.” Nick confesses, looking guilty. During the nine months they were a couple, and during the three years they have known each other, Harry has never seen him so serious. “I know we weren’t into our relationship anymore, but that doesn’t excuse what I did. And for that, I want to say sorry.”

           Harry is surprised, again, about two things. The first thing is the fact that Nick has apologized. Nick has a pride of stone; one that is more important to him than any relationship he has and than anyone else's feelings; admitting his wrongdoings is not something he does. He prefers excuses, sometimes he guilt-trips others, but  _ sorry  _ is not a word he is fond of. So, the fact that he is both recognizing where he has gone wrong and apologizing for it takes Harry by surprise.

           Second, he is at a loss for words, he does not know what to say. Not because he's confused or having mixed up feelings; but because he does not feel anything. Nick's apology does not make him feel any better or any worse. It does not spark anything inside him, it is almost as if he has told him that it is going to rain tomorrow or that he has lost a bet. He happily realizes that he has moved on.

           "Sure, it's alright now." He ends up saying. Because it is true; things feel alright now.

\- 

          Louis scowls at his phone as Harry once again reads his message but does not reply. It is not normal, Harry is the faster person he knows when it comes to replying, and he feels slightly bummed. He knows the boy must be busy, but now that he is used to it, he needs his attention on him at all times. Being busy has not stopped him from giving him all of his attention before. Well, except from when he cut him out of his life but Louis wants to believe he would not do such thing again. The thought makes him uneasy, so he asks Preston if he could take him to the venue, giving him some excuse about not wanting to be alone at the hotel. Preston makes a phone call, and then he tells him that it will be no problem.

           He claps both hands together, growing excited just by the thought of seeing the boy, and hugging him, and smelling his ridiculously expensive aftershave and hoarding all of his attention. And maybe fucking again, because last night has been beautiful. He buries the uneasiness from earlier deep down, preventing himself from paying too much mind to it.

           They arrive at the venue, and there is a childish skip to his step that he cannot avoid as he makes his way to where someone from the staff has indicated Harry is. He does stop, however, a few rows from the boy in question, when he sees the person sitting next to him. Curious, he stays back and watches as the man next to his friend, which is no other than Nicholas Grimshaw, the asshole who cheated on him, laughs at something Harry has said, and softly slaps his shoulder in a playful manner. He glares at his hand, almost as if he was trying to disintegrate it.

          He stares for a while as they converse, Nick at some point leaning in to whisper something in Harry’s ear, to which the green-eyed boy chuckles. It makes Louis’ blood boil. He does not understand how they can act like nothing happened after everything the radio host did. Yes, Harry has told him that he has not been too affected by it, but that does not change the fact that Nicholas Grimshaw went behind his back and hooked up with someone else. He sort of wants to punch the man’s face, but he does not want to cause a scene and bring bad press to Harry.

         Soon, a feeling uncomfortably similar to jealousy sets in when he realizes that this is the reason Harry has not replied to any of his text messages; because he has been too busy talking to Nick. He frowns, and averts his eyes from the men. For a split of a second he thinks about walking up to them and kissing Harry, or something similar, but he does not know how he will react so he decides against it, and instead walks away, following the directions towards the exit of the venue.

           He does not ask anyone from Harry’s team to take him to the hotel, and instead stops a cab, not wanting to cause any kind of drama, or raise questions. He is upset, incredibly so, which only gets worse when he opens his message thread with Harry and the boy still has not messaged him back.

           He tries to tell himself that he has no right to feel angry at Harry for holding a conversation with his ex or even for deciding not to text him during said conversation, because they are nothing. They have blown each other and kissed and given each other handjobs multiple times, Harry has been flirting with him a lot lately, and last night they not only had sex, but it felt like they have been emotionally connected through it all; still, they are not dating so the singer does not owe him any sort of exclusivity.

           Once in their hotel room, he sits on the balcony, watching as the cerulean sky begins to turn lilac as the night starts to set in, ignoring the memories that are still too fresh from the previous evening.

           He begins to wonder if it was actually a smart idea to do this. It has been lovely at the beginning, spending time with Harry and getting to live some exciting experiences, but he cannot ignore how old feelings are resurfacing now, and how he is falling for him all over again.

           He feels so stupid. He guesses that he never completely got over him, and he has never completely fallen out of love. He groans loudly, grabbing his phone in order to text Zayn through Signal.  

_ ‘I miss you twat :(‘,  _ he sends, and he knows that his friend will immediately pick up on the fact that something is not quite right, and he will tell him off, but at this point he does not care. He also absolutely detests when Zayn is right.

           His phone beeps some minutes later, and he grabs it, ready to receive a scold from his friend in Doncaster, but what he sees, instead, is a message from Sam.

           He could not have chosen a worse moment.

           Annoyed, he reads what it says. Maybe, several weeks ago, the text would have made him happy; and he would have crawled back to Sam asking him to give their relationship a chance. But right now, he feels angry.

           The message reads a simple,  _ ‘I miss you, I need you’ _ .

           As if he has not been completely fucking him over during the past weeks. Another message comes in right away, and it makes his blood boil; Sam says that he still loves him. He gets up from the chair and enters the bedroom area again, taking the phone from the night table. International calls are expensive, but he is sure it will not make a dent in Harry’s bank account, so he dialed Sam’s number, his face red with anger.

           He hears a slurred  _ ‘lo?’ _ once the guy picks up; he is drunk. That is why he is calling, because he is drunk.

           “Who the fuck do you think you are, Sam?” He nearly shouts, every emotion he has felt and suppressed overflowing a metaphorical glass. “You cannot just throw me out of your life, then shove your relationship with that man on my face and then expect me to be back in your arms! That’s not how it works!” He spits out, and he can sense that Sam has a hard time figuring out that it is Louis who is calling him.

           “Louis?”

          “Yes, you wanker! Who else would it be?” He spits at him, scrubbing his face out of frustration and pent up hurt. He is tired of people seeing him as something disposable, as if he is an accessory that they can put on and take off whenever they pleased.

           “You cannot just completely fuck me over, make me doubt my own self-worth, and then come back when I’m finally over you, you don’t have any right to play with me like that; I deserve better. Who are  _ you  _ to act like I don’t?” He hiccups, rubbing at his eyes to stop tears from spilling out.

           “So, fuck off. I hate you and I want nothing to do with you anymore.” He says, and hastily hangs up the phone, not giving the other guy to say any word. He proceeds to block his number from his own cellphone, deciding that he is finally done with him. What has prompted it? He is not sure.

           Suddenly, it all feels like too much, and he breaks down crying. Something he has not done in what feels like so long. He feels overwhelmed, in a city so far from home, and stupid Zayn has not replied to his text and Harry is probably still talking to Grimshaw and, and,  _ and _ . He feels too much at the moment. So he just cries, and sobs, and chokes on his own saliva until he passes out from exhaustion.

           Harry gets back to the room at 8PM, feeling tired and dreading the fact that he has to attend the AMAs in a couple hours. Frankly, he only wants to stay in and cuddle with Louis, but that does not seem to be an option since he has already had too many weeks off. He still has two hours until he has to be at the gala, so he gets in bed, just behind Louis and presses himself up to his back, putting his arm over his body. The boy groans lowly and squirms away, moving closer to the edge of the bed, out of Harry’s hold.

           Harry, of course, frowns, not understanding the boy’s behavior. Louis is the most cuddly person he has ever met, so it is not like him to reject physical contact like that. He figures maybe he just needs some space. After all, everyone has mood changes from time to time, so he goes to the bathroom to take a shower in the meantime.

           When he gets out of the toilet, Louis is already up, rubbing at his eyes with his fisted hand. Harry greets him, smile wide.

          “Hi, Lou.” The other boy greets him back, only smiling slightly. Something is definitely up with him and he wants to ask but Louis only grabs some clothes and leaves the room in order to take a shower as well.

           He comes out in black jeans that look almost painted on, hair damp and dripping onto the floor. He sits next to a plug trying to blow-dry his hair, not directing a single word to the younger boy. Harry wonders if he has done something wrong last night, if he has been too harsh, or if he has not pleased him well enough. He does not know, but it is making him crazy.

           “Sylvia is on her way. You want her to do your hair?” Harry asks, to which Louis only shrugs, giving up and unplugging the blowdryer. Louis sits on the bed then, checking his phone, silence reigning in their room. Again, Harry is about to ask what is wrong before he loses his mind but then Sylvia is coming into their room, without even            

          “Hi, guys!” She greets them cheerfully, putting a huge and heavy-looking suitcase on the bed like it weighs nothing. Louis admires her strength. She starts with Harry’s hair, doing it in a way that makes it look wavy, then does his makeup, only slightly and almost unnoticeable. When she is done with him, she calls Louis over and Harry takes his former position on the bed. Louis sits in front of Sylvia, his back to where Harry is sitting patiently.

           Sylvia is excited to work on Louis, since he is a new face, and she starts babbling about everything she wants to try. She slicks his hair back on the sides, and then, curls his fringe until it falls on a perfect swirl upon his forehead. She calls it a ‘cinnamon roll’, and makes the blue-eyed boy chuckle.

           She goes to her suitcase and pulls out an assorted collection of makeup to start working on his face, adding some nude rose gold eyeshadow on his eyelids, and outlines the shape of his eyelid with glittery gold eyeliner. Finally, she adds a little pink lipstick on his lips with the tip of her index finger. She observes the result and beams, excited to see how gorgeous yet natural he looks.

           “Look at your date, Harry!” She exclaims, clapping her hands, feeling proud of her work. So Harry gets up from the bed, curious and eager to see how the already beautiful boy looks. He is taken aback, needless to say; Louis looks  _ breathtaking _ . His breath hitches as he takes on every small detail. Louis blushes slightly under his stare, looking down at his fingers.

           “It’s the first time I’ve worn makeup, say something.” He mumbles, fingers fidgeting on his lap, his leg bobbing up and down in a fast, repetitive manner.

           “You look stunning, Lou. The most beautiful boy I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.” He admits, shaken up. The blush on Louis’ cheeks turns a few shades darker, and he decides to take a small risk, so, he leans down and pecks his cheek. Sylvia whistles at them, which makes Harry mutter a low  _ ‘sorry’ _ , slightly embarrassed, and get back to the bed while the stylist gathers her supplies.

           Fifteen minutes later, Preston texts Harry, letting him know their car is waiting for them at the hotel parking lot.

-

           “So, you ready?” Harry asks when they are in the car, waiting for the signal to get off and walk into the red carpet. Louis is looking nervously at all the journalists, fans screaming and celebrities that he has never thought he would ever see in person, through the window.

           “It’s your first live performance after… everything, are  _ you _ ?”

           “I’m not. But it is what it is.” He smiles sheepishly, eyebrows raised in a slight scowl.

          “Lou, please, tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been acting weird ever since I got back to the hotel.” He pleads, his voice a little desperate as the car moves and pulls over right in front of the beginning of the red carpet.

           Louis sighs, he wants to say that he hates Nicholas Grimshaw’s guts, that he has seen him in the afternoon, that he does not think Nick deserves him in the slightest, that he does not want him to go back to him because he is already developing  feelings for him, feelings that he has never had for Sam because he makes him feel cherished and important and cared for; something that he has realized he never had with the other man.

           He wants to tell him that he has not been pretending for a long time now. That he is not sure if he ever has. That their kisses, their caresses, their laughter, their embraces have felt realer than anything he has ever experienced.

           However, he does not want to ruin Harry’s big night, and he is already anxious as it is, so he puts all of his feelings and confusing thoughts aside, and offers him a small smile.

           “Nothing, just tired from all the sightseeing today.” He lies, and Harry seems to have doubts for a moment, but then they are told they have to get out of the car, so he shrugs it off. Harry takes Louis’ hand in his, intertwining their fingers as the door is open and the outside noise reaches their ears.

           Louis feels dizzy for a moment, so he lets himself be led by the singer. There are people screaming his name, dozens of girls and boys alike screaming for him to sign their albums and posters. Harry knows Louis is supposed to be led inside through another door, but he seems so disoriented that he wants to keep him by his side and offer him a familiar presence among the chaos of his very own life.

           Louis feels as Harry lets go of his hand in order to be interviewed by someone whom Louis vaguely recognizes from a fashion TV show. He stares at him as he adopts a confident stance, giving cheeky answers to the tall, skinny woman; smirking when she points out that his album is still in the Top 100 of various American charts. It is a side of his personality that only pops out when he is in front of a camera, Louis has noticed, and he loves it just as much as he loves the rest of its parts.

           He is so, so gone for him that he cannot contain the smile of pride blossoming on his face as the interview is wrapped up and Harry is prompted to send a message to his fans watching at home.  

           They sit on the second row of seats inside the venue, Preston and Jeff also by their side, and Louis almost faints when he sees the name tags discreetly stuck to the back of the chairs, and reads the big names that will be sitting near them. He squeezes Harry’s hand when someone from the staff that is leading a girl Louis does not know but he assumes is a celebrity in America to her seat mentions that Taylor Swift will be opening the ceremony, a mix of excitement and nerves filling him and making him feel nauseous.

           As he notes on all the white, rich, old men that are attendees as well, he wonders how many members of pedophile rings and secret white supremacists are going to be attending, too.

The venue starts to fill in rather quickly, and Louis suddenly needs to go to the loo. He needs to have a second away from the noise buzzing in his ears and the too-famous, too-rich, too-powerful people surrounding him at the moment. He tells Harry so, and the singer offers to go with him, but Preston does not let him because he is nominated for one of the first awards to be announced so he cannot risk being away if he is announced to be the winner. A staff member briefly tells the Doncaster boy where the toilets are located and he rushes towards the indicated direction before he throws up in front of Bebe Rexha.

Harry watches him with concerned eyes as he leaves, wondering if he has done wrong to bring him into this part of his life so out of the blue. He opens his message thread  with him to text him, to ask him if everything is okay, when he sees that he has not replied to any of his texts earlier. And shit. Louis has probably thought he was purposely ignoring him. He is such an idiot.

He feels even more guilty when he sees that he also has a Signal message from Zayn. Swallowing hard, he opens it, and it only reads, _‘you’re such a twat, what the fuck did you do?’_ And okay, whatever is going on with the boy is obviously related to him.

-

Louis locks himself in a bathroom stall and sits down on the lid of the toilet, doing his best to steady his breathing process, trying his best not to scratch at his face repeatedly, not wanting to ruin his makeup. 

Back in Doncaster, it has been easier to pretend he could fit into Harry’s extravagant life, and he has been able to easily ignore when Harry would talk about things like spending ten thousand pounds on a night out, or when he would randomly mention hanging out with highly respectable names of the music industry during their videogame nights with the other lads. And the thing is that he does not do those things to boast about it, but because they have become such a normal part of his life, something so average, that he mentions it all like it is nothing. Like, it is as normal as greeting the lady at the bakery or getting two buckets of ice cream instead of just one.

He stays hidden in the stall for minutes that soon turn into half an hour, and then it is an hour, and the makeup Sylvia has put so much effort on gets smudged by beads of sweat glistening on his face, and he needs to throw up, and he wants to disappear and go back to his small town in South Yorkshire.

He finds himself watching the ceremony through a livestream on YouTube, and he cheers lowly when Harry receives an award for Best Pop Song of 2017. Suddenly, his streaming is interrupted by a notification that pops up on his screen. It is a text message from Harry. He takes a heavy breath and opens it.

_ ‘Lou im about to go onstage. Please dont miss it.’ _

          He inhales and exhales a couple times, before he rubs his face and gets up from the toilet. He waits for the man who is outside the stalls, probably washing his hands, to leave and then he gets out. He checks his reflection and adjusts his outfit. He still has the streaming on, and he catches the presenter announce Harry Styles to be the next performer, also pointing out that he is singing his new single for the first time ever.

           Louis frowns in confusion, not recalling Harry ever telling him that he is releasing a new song any time soon. The realization that he has not considered him important enough to mention something as important as a new song to him, even when they have spent so many days attached at the hip, makes him feel even more like an outsider in his life. He stays back, leaning on a wall, and continues watching through the YouTube page instead of going out as he has just been about to.

           While soft strums of a guitar play, Harry abandons the protocol of the awards ceremony for a bit to introduce the new song, and if Louis can see well through the small screen, he is a bit teary-eyed. He sounds breathless.

           “This song I have never performed before and, it marks a new phase in my life. I have written it, specifically, about and for the person who’s helped me get my feet back on the ground.” Louis’ eyes widen, and a message telling him to plug his phone because it has ran out of battery pops up. “I hope he’s listening right now, from a bathroom stall, I suppose. I asked him not to miss it. This is  _ ‘Happily’ _ .”

           Louis lets out a tiny sob, and his legs start moving on their own as he walks out of the bathroom and Harry starts singing the first lines of his song.

_ You don’t understand, what you do to me when you hold his hand _

_we were meant to be but a twist of fate_

_made it so we had to walk away._

His phone shuts down then, and he quickens his pace until he is actually running, Harry’s voice reaching his ears through the speakers placed around the entirety of the venue.

_ I don’t care what people say when we’re together _

_ you know I want to be the one to hold you when you sleep _

          He reaches his destination soon, and when he appears at the top of the stairs that lead up to the front of the stage, people start turning towards him, celebrities and non-famous people alike, some whispering to the person by their side. He does not care, though, because there Harry is, radiant in a black suit, hair cascading nicely and naturally messy, singing a song that he has written, undoubtedly, about him. About Louis, an average university student who works at a diner to afford his studies and a shitty flat.

_ So, baby, be with me so happily. _

           Harry never stops looking for Louis in the crowd, hopeful. He needs him to listen to his words. He needs to tell him, in the best way he knows, how much he wants him to stay in his life. So when his eyes lock with Louis, who is the only person standing in the audience, almost frozen in his spot, he smiles.

          “There he is.” He breathes out, but the microphone manages to catch it.  

           The song ends then, and the public explodes in applause. Louis runs back in the direction towards where he assumes  the dressing rooms where Harry has probably gone to will be. He needs to see Harry right now, and he needs to kiss him. And ask him so many questions, and apologize for being a moron throughout the day.

           He finds himself in front of a door, with a security guard who does not allow him to go in. He whines, having forgotten his credentials in the bathroom, probably.

           He turns on his heel, determined to find another way to get to Harry as soon as possible, but when he has taken about three steps, he hears the raspy voice of the singer calling for him. He swears every nerve, every muscle, every organ in his body freezes, except for his heart that starts beating at an abnormally fast pace. When he turns around, as if they were in a cheesy movie scene, he jumps on Harry, no longer being able to contain all the emotions running wild inside him. He wraps his arms around the taller boy’s neck, hiding his face in the small space under his ear and inhaling the smell of his cologne, his hair tickling at his face. The singer holds him up by putting his hands under his thighs, swirling around in the empty alley, the only company being the man guarding the door.

           “I thought you’d gone back to Nick.” Louis mutters, relief evident in his tone of voice. There is also something akin to happy tears laced with it as he lets out a watery laugh when he realizes how absurd  he has been.

           “Why?” Harry cannot help but ask, curious as to why he has blurted out such thing in a moment like this.

           “I saw you, with him, and you ignored all my texts while you were with him.” He looks up, staring into Harry’s eyes with his own tearful ones. As he voices his worries, he realizes how irrational such train of thoughts has been, his assumptions not making sense to his own ears. Harry is about to say something, to negate what he has just said but he is interrupted by the boy, who kisses him rather harshly.

           They kiss for who knows how long, with Louis’ back pressed to the wall behind him, and his hands tangled tightly in their rightful spot in Harry’s hair, the faint music of a performer in the distance. Harry is desperate to show Louis, somehow, how much he truly likes him. How much he wants him in his life.

           “I want us to-”, he says as they part for a millisecond, “-stop pretending.” He murmurs against his lips now, then he leans back, keeping Louis from locking their lips again so he can look straight to his eyes.  “I want us to be real.” He admits, and watches the thousands of unreadable emotions that pass over Louis’ features, who finally sobs and hides his face in the crook of his neck.

           “But you have to promise not to leave me again.” He whispers, almost too scared to voice it out loud. In fear of what? Of sounding too needy, too insecure? Of being too demanding and causing Harry to get rid of him as Sam has done? He’s not really sure.

           Harry puts him down on the floor and Louis refuses to meet his eyes, but he soon feels two fingers under his chin lifting his head slowly.

           “Lou, I made that mistake once. But I’ve realized you’re much more valuable, much more important, much more precious than  _ all  _ of this.” He swirls his index finger as if indicating the awards ceremony, and the whole world it represents.

           “I only regret it took me so many years, and a major breakdown in my career to realize that you’re the one constant thing I need and want in my life. You can ask for it, and I will drop it all and move back to Doncaster So, if you truly give me another chance, I will not screw it all up this time.”

           Instead of verbally announcing his decision, Louis only puts his hands on Harry’s cheeks, slowly caressing his cheekbones with his thumbs, the boy leaning into the touch. Starry eyes looking straight into hopeful ones, until their lips meet again.

           This time, the kiss is not harsh nor hungry, as it has been just moments prior. This time, it is gentle and soft. As delicate as a promise.

           Harry knows that the next day, there will be countless headlines talking about him and Louis, and probably about how unprofessional he has been. There will be rumors, and backlash from the too-conservative integrists that keep harassing queer people in the name of God and morals. He will be told off by his team for not going through with what he has rehearsed, and instead improvising his little speech.

           And Louis knows nothing will ever be the same and he will have to get used to the changes, the incessant gossip and the hectic sides of Harry’s profession. And he knows that he is taking a big risk by accepting Harry back into his life, the risk of getting his heart broken in a way that he might not be able to recover from. But life is all about the shots you take. Maybe before it hadn’t been the right time. Maybe they have only needed to grow up, trip on the obstacles thrown their way, and learn from one too many mistakes, for it to work right.

           Neither of them has fully recovered from their past relationships, but they have found closure. And that is a start.

          Together, they have the certainty that it will be, eventually, alright.

**_end._ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write smut to save my life, so. I'm sorry.


End file.
